Dark Fantasy

Rainoga

Tinshi

I really loved Adventure but I wanted to go through space so once once I'm done adding fantasy stuff I will make a giant update that would just be map that space stuff new races for outer space spells I do have to do that somewhere in like a month or two but I might have to take a small Hiatus for a little bit

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The Forgotten Realms

The Forgotten Realms is a vast, ever-evolving continent teeming with life, danger, and wonder. Spanning icy tundras, sweltering jungles, sun-blasted deserts, and deep underworlds, its lands are shaped by mortal ambition and divine intervention alike. At its heart lies Faerûn, home to storied regions like the Sword Coast, the Dalelands, and the Anauroch. Kingdoms rise and fall amid arcane discoveries, ancient curses, and resurgent empires. Magic pulses through the Realms via the Weave, the mystical conduit overseen by the goddess Mystra, enabling spellcraft to flourish or falter depending on divine whim. Gods walk unseen among mortals, their presence a constant undercurrent in daily life. Heroes and villains clash in forgotten ruins, bustling cities, and planar rifts alike, while dragons, drow, liches, and tyrants manipulate events on both grand and local scales. In the Realms, every blade carries history, every ruin a warning, and every path the potential to shape destiny.

Abriymoch

Abriymoch stands as the infernal jewel of Phlegethos, the fourth layer of the Nine Hells, nestled deep within a vast volcanic caldera wreathed in fire and ash. Its obsidian towers and crimson crystal walls shimmer with unnatural light, constantly bathed in volcanic glow and the screams of tormented souls. As the seat of Archdevils Belial and Fierna, the city thrives on indulgence and discipline in equal measure. Here lies the Diabolical Court, where infernal law is debated with cunning rhetoric and cruel precision, watched by devils, erinyes, and the damned alike. Ruling over daily affairs is the pit fiend Gazra, who resides within a towering, semi-transparent manor carved from flame-hardened crystal. Despite the oppressive heat and ever-present threat of punishment, Abriymoch pulses with twisted life—devilish carnivals, duels of flame, and extravagant performances dazzle visitors and residents in a macabre spectacle. It is both fortress and theater, tyranny and temptation incarnate.

Aeaea, Hecate's Infernal Domain

Aeaea, the infernal realm of the goddess Hecate, manifests as a land of contradiction and layered torment, a volcanic dominion straddling both Phlegethos and, according to some sources, the festering swamps of Minauros. Rivers of molten fire twist across charred obsidian plains, and the horizon is pierced by countless volcanoes in eternal eruption. At its heart lies a colossal crater, within which rises Hecate’s throne—an obsidian monolith studded with fire opals that radiate arcane heat and unspoken dread. Though it mirrors Phlegethos in elemental fury, Aeaea pulses with deeper mystery: arcane sigils burn unseen into the scorched sky, and whispers of fate trail through choking smoke. A bleak reflection of this domain is said to exist in the Gray Waste. Here, fire is a tool of knowledge as much as punishment, and Hecate’s power weaves through destruction, sorcery, and the inevitable choices faced at every crossroad of damnation.

Aeaea, Hecate's secondary realm

Aeaea, Hecate’s secondary realm, contrasts her volcanic domain with a frozen, arcane wasteland steeped in necromantic precision. Shrouded in eternal, unnatural mist, this realm exudes a dreadful stillness, where no sun shines and no warmth remains. The land is barren and ice-bound, interrupted only by grim structures of obsidian and bone that house soul-extracting mechanisms—chilling arcane devices that siphon the life force from the damned. These engines of magic hum softly beneath the fog, transmuting spirit into raw arcane energy that powers Hecate’s mysterious works. The very air crackles with stolen essence, thick with unspent screams and spectral residue. Wandering shades drift through the mists, their forms twisted by the extraction process, caught between death and utility. Here, magic is not born—it is harvested. Aeaea embodies the cold alchemy of power, a frozen crucible where mortality feeds sorcery, and even death is not an escape, but a transformation.

Alaghôn

Alaghôn, the "Jewel of Turmish," is a bustling metropolis (population: 75,000) and vital trade hub on Faerûn's Inner Sea, established in -37 DR. Primarily human and elf inhabited, it's divided into distinct districts: Military, Merchant, and Assembly. Ancient dwarven stonework underlies human construction, creating a labyrinth of hidden passages and vaults, often leading to dangerous encounters. Trade flourishes, drawing goods from the Orsraun Mountains and the Shining Plains. The city's history is marked by events like the Procession of Justice (-247 DR), a devastating fire in 352 DR, and the occupation by the blue dragon Anaglathos, during which a lich queen resided beneath the palace. Alaghôn is also known for Hambra's Horncall, a popular periodical, and the presence of mercenary companies that patrol the wilder areas. Notable inhabitants include Ilbrelm Nasker, a shoemaker who employed the marginalized.

Alaron Island

Alaron Island, the crown jewel of the Moonshae Isles, presents a land of stark contrasts. Split by the formidable Fairheight Mountains, the southern realm of Callidyrr flourishes with verdant lowlands, supporting bountiful farms and yielding rich timber and iron. Here, the Ffolk reign from the capital of Caer Callidyrr, a city steeped in ancient Kendrick lineage, once home to High King Tristan and Queen Alicia. Whispers of mythical Llewyrr and elusive unicorns drift from the untamed wilderness, hinting at primal magic. To the north, the rugged kingdom of Gnarhelm houses the fierce Northlanders. Beneath the mountain's jagged peaks, the dwarven clans of Rustfire and Rookoath wage a bitter war against encroaching dark fey and the chilling presence of a shadow dragon, their conflict echoing through the stony passes. The island, a tapestry of kingdoms and wild magic, stands as a perilous and wondrous domain, its destiny intertwined with the ancient powers that dwell within its heart.

Amn

Amn, the Merchant's Domain, stands as a bastion of wealth in West Faerûn, its influence stretching from the trade routes to Calimshan and Baldur's Gate, to colonial holdings in the Moonshaes and Chult. Primarily human, with a substantial halfling minority, its populace numbers around 3 million. Athkatla, the capital and "City of Coin," founded in 100 DR, pulses with the energy of constant commerce. The worship of Waukeen, goddess of wealth, dominates, though Helm, Milil, Selûne, Lathander, and the shadowy Cyric also hold sway. Amn's society revolves around trade, where even divine spellcasters are valued for their monetary contributions. The sinister Shadow Thieves weave through every layer of society, their presence felt in every transaction and back alley. Arcane magic, however, is met with universal fear and revulsion, its practitioners shunned and often persecuted. This nation, driven by profit and shadowed by intrigue, presents a complex tapestry of prosperity and peril.

Amnwater

Amnwater, a key commercial town in Amn, thrives at the crossroads of major overland trade routes, making it a magnet for merchants, caravans, and opportunists alike. Though nominally led by the High Wheel, a ceremonial post, true authority rests with a tight circle of wealthy merchant dynasties who dominate the lucrative caravan industry. The town bustles with activity year-round but swells during peak trading seasons, when its diverse population nearly doubles. Inns, stables, wheelwrights, armorers, and brew houses form the backbone of its economy, with the famed Amnwater No.1 beer serving as both local pride and popular export. A low but sturdy stone wall encircles the town, with vigilant militia stationed at its gates and patrols keeping trade routes secure. Central to both civic and spiritual life is the massive granite Prayer Stone, where travelers and townsfolk alike offer prayers to Waukeen, Helm, or other favored gods before setting out. Amnwater is a pragmatic town.

Amphail

Amphail, a humble village nestled along the Long Road north of Waterdeep, serves as a vital waypoint and breeding ground for fine steeds. Home to roughly 600 souls within its modest bounds, and an additional 250 scattered across its outlying farms, Amphail thrives on the trade of horseflesh and the skilled hands that train them. The village bears the name of Amphail the Just, a legendary warlord of Waterdeep's nascent days, whose restless spirit is rumored to still roam the surrounding hills, a spectral guardian or a lingering threat, depending on the teller. Its unassuming nature and proximity to the sprawling metropolis of Waterdeep make Amphail a favored starting point for many adventuring parties, a place where fledgling heroes might find their first quests, be it wrangling unruly steeds, investigating spectral sightings, or facing the everyday perils that plague even the most tranquil of hamlets.

Anauroch

Anauroch, the Great Sand Sea, is a vast, magically-warped desert in northern Faerûn, formed by ancient phaerimm magic. This harsh land is a place of extremes, with scorching days and frigid nights, where the landscape shifts from sandy dunes and rocky plains in the south to frozen wastes in the north. The Bedine, nomadic tribes skilled in survival and raiding, are the primary inhabitants, navigating the treacherous terrain and defending their territory against intruders. The Zhentarim, driven by profit, have established trade routes and fortified oases, battling the Bedine for control. The Shadovar, returning from the Plane of Shadow, seek to reclaim the ancient Netheril, altering the climate and subjugating or displacing the Bedine and other inhabitants. Beneath the shifting sands lurk the malevolent phaerimm, powerful spellcasters imprisoned long ago. The land is inhabited by the Bedine, Zhentarim, Shadovar, Phaerimm, Asabi, Blue Dragons, giants, goblins, gnolls, and other creatures.

Anauroch (South)

Ankhwugaht

Ankhwugaht, Set’s infernal domain within icy Stygia, burns with blasphemous contradiction—a scorched desert buried in the heart of a frozen hell. Here, the laws of nature bend to divine will, as relentless heat smothers a land surrounded by glacial desolation. Endless dunes of blackened, burning sand roll beneath a blood-red sky, each grain etched with the memory of Set’s dark sovereignty. At the desert’s core towers a colossal obsidian pyramid, its surface smooth and lightless, its apex lost in the haze of rising heat. Labyrinthine catacombs snake beneath the sand, serving as crypts, prisons, and temples. The air thrums with the oppressive weight of divine malice, distorting vision and thought alike. Whispers on the wind carry prayers twisted into curses, and mirages of lost souls flicker just beyond reach. In Ankhwugaht, the desert is not merely terrain—it is doctrine, punishment, and prophecy forged under the gaze of a god who thrives on suffering and shadow.

Aphrunn Mountains

The rugged Aphrunn Mountains, a formidable spine of jagged peaks and treacherous slopes, carve a stark southern boundary for the republic of Turmish, shielding it from the wilds of the Vilhon Reach. These imposing mountains, visible even from the distant isle of Ilighôn across the Farshore Straits, are a realm of harsh winters and perilous terrain, home to both majestic and monstrous inhabitants. The Lilit Pass, a vital artery through the range, offers the only reliable passage for trade and travel, connecting Turmish to the broader Vilhon. Within these peaks, the noble gold dragon Frizzerfraz claims a solitary aerie, while the cunning Scything Claw kobolds, a constant threat to Turmish settlements, lurk in hidden warrens, raiding with vicious efficiency. To the northwest, the Orsraun Mountains, the largest range south of the Spine of the World, further define Turmish's borders, creating a land locked between formidable natural barriers.

Arabel

Arabel, a bustling fortified city in northern Cormyr, stands as a critical trade nexus where the High Road, Calantar's Way, East Way, and Moonsea Ride converge. Ruled by Myrmeen Lhal under King Azoun IV, this city boasts a vibrant, diverse population of Cormyreans, merchants, and adventurers, fostering a rich cultural tapestry. Known for its skilled artisans, lively festivals like Highharvestide, and a thriving marketplace, Arabel blends practical, sturdy architecture with ornate displays of wealth. The city's defenses are formidable, manned by the elite Purple Dragons, and uniquely, mercenaries within its walls are permitted to bear arms. Though Tilverton's rise has slightly diminished its strategic importance, Arabel remains a hub of commerce and military strength, facing threats from the Stonelands. Notable landmarks include Tymora's Temple (Lady's Hall), and the city is renowned for its Bitter Black beer.

Archwood Forest

Arch Wood, a shadowed expanse of ancient oaks and ashen sentinels, sprawls across Archendale's northern fringe, its depths largely undisturbed by the axe. This untamed wilderness conceals the secluded hamlet of Arch Wood, a whisper of civilization nestled within the forest’s heart. Here, amidst a scattering of humble cottages, the clang of a blacksmith's hammer rings out, and the rhythmic churn of a watermill echoes through the dense undergrowth. The village, a haven of quiet isolation, remains largely unknown to the realms beyond its emerald embrace, home to the likes of Feena Archwood, a devout cleric of Selûne, who also bears the mark of the lycanthrope. The forest itself is a labyrinth of gnarled branches and dim trails, a place where the unwary can easily lose their way, and where ancient secrets slumber beneath the canopy of leaves, making it a place of both tranquil beauty and dangerous mystery.

Arn Forest

The Arn Forest, a secluded expanse south of Ascore, nestled between Anauroch and the Nether Mountains, presents a stark dichotomy. Its western reaches, perpetually drenched in rain, give way to treacherous marshlands, while the eastern side is sparsely populated with resilient scrub pines. Within its depths, ancient Netheril ruins lie concealed, haunted by bands of territorial kobolds. Graevelwood, a discreet rock gnome settlement, clings to the forest’s edge, offering a rare haven amidst the wilderness. The forest’s inhabitants are a diverse mix: kobolds, lightfoot halflings, rock gnomes, and shield dwarves, their lives interwoven with the worship of Garl Glittergold. This isolated region, a blend of untamed nature and forgotten history, sees few travelers, maintaining its enigmatic allure.

Ascore Ruins

Ascore Ruins, a desolate testament to dwarven ambition lost to time, looms on the Anauroch's edge. Wind whispers through shattered stone, remnants of a once-proud port, now a haunted husk. Thirteen crimson pyramids, their origins shrouded in enigma, stand sentinel over the ruins, their red stone an unsettling contrast to the desert's ochre hues. A pool of liquid shadow, a malevolent stain, pulses within the pyramids' circle, a gateway to unknown horrors. A gaping tunnel, a relic of dwarven craft, descends into the earth, leading to the treacherous Underdark, a nexus of the Buried Realms and the Northdark. Whispers of ancient evils cling to the crumbling walls, and the echoes of a dwarven chant may activate a forgotten portal, the Hlaungadath Portal, promising perilous journeys. The fabled Tear of Ascore, an artifact of potent magic, may lie hidden within these haunted stones, tempting adventurers into the ruins' depths.

Assam

Assam is a bustling trade hub set along the northern edge of the Shining Plains, surrounded not by walls but by a sea of wagons, caravans, and livestock. Known for its thriving tanneries and slaughterhouses, Assam’s economy is driven by merchants who operate with minimal restrictions. Though nominally under the protection of the larger cities Lheshayl and Ormath, Assam maintains a sizable militia to ensure order within its limits. Hunters flock here in late summer and autumn for the city’s frequent sanctioned hunts. A mysterious one-way portal lies in ancient ruins to the northwest, connecting Assam to distant Kara-Tur. The city is overseen by the astute Honlinar Tempest, a skilled mayor who preserves trade stability by deftly navigating regional politics.

At'ar's Looking Glass

At'ar's Looking Glass, a blistering oval stretch deep within Anauroch, spans 140 by 200 miles of heat-bleeding, kaleidoscopic stone. This stony expanse glows with warped reds, silvers, and blacks that shimmer like molten glass beneath the unrelenting sun, making passage even on camelback deadly. Local lore tells of At’ar, either a Netherese archwizard who defied the phaerimm and burned the land in arcane backlash, or a diviner whose prophetic lake was cursed. Today, the Looking Glass conceals the Azirrhat Portal Collection—a rare cluster of ancient teleportation gates buried within the cracked stone. These portals offer swift passage across Faerûn, but are fiercely guarded by a host of factions: asabi patrols, ruthless Zhentarim mercenaries, nomadic Bedine warriors, and secretive Shade wizards. The combination of blistering heat, hostile terrain, and vigilant defenders makes At’ar’s Looking Glass less a place of wonder and more a graveyard for the reckless and ambitious.

Athkatla

Athkatla, the famed City of Coin and jewel of Amn, pulses with relentless mercantile energy, its sprawling streets bridging the wealth of Calimshan with the ambition of the Sword Coast. Founded over a millennium ago, Athkatla thrives as a teeming metropolis where nearly every citizen lives and breathes commerce. From the thundering trade of the Bridge District to the hushed desperation of the Slums, its neighborhoods mirror both its vast prosperity and deep inequality. Humans dominate the population, but elves, dwarves, gnomes, and halflings are deeply woven into its guilds, markets, and courts. Storm-lanterns line cobbled avenues that never sleep, especially in summer, when trade swells the population to nearly 400,000. Towering over all is the influence of the Cowled Wizards, who enforce strict magical control—arcane spellcasting is forbidden without permit, and violators vanish into the feared halls of Spellhold.

Avernus

Avernus, the first layer of Baator, is a blasted warzone where volcanic plains, shattered crags, and rivers of molten rock stretch beneath a sky forever burning with red firestorms. It serves as the gateway to the Nine Hells and the principal battlefield of the Blood War—a ceaseless, savage conflict between devils and demons. The very land bleeds, strewn with corpses, blackened bones, and blood-slicked ash. The River Styx coils through this infernal realm, its toxic waters marking a path through ruin and carnage. Once dotted with infernal cities, Avernus now hosts only war-forts and supply outposts. Its ruler, the fallen angel Zariel, commands a brutal military regime from the Bronze Citadel, directing infernal legions and Abishai war-broods to repel demonic incursions. Another infamous site, the Pillar of Skulls, rises as a grotesque archive of damned souls. Despite the destruction, Avernus yields green steel, a rare infernal alloy prized for weapons. It is a realm of eternal war.

Baator, the Nine Hells

Baator, known as the Nine Hells, is the epitome of lawful evil—a plane of infernal order, calculated cruelty, and malevolent ambition. Positioned between Acheron and Gehenna in the Great Wheel cosmology, it descends through nine distinct layers, each ruled by a powerful archdevil and saturated with the essence of tyranny. Avernus, the uppermost layer, borders other planes and serves as the battlefield of the Blood War and primary point of ingress. Deeper layers—such as Dis, Malbolge, and Nessus—grow ever more hostile and oppressive, mirroring the ascending power and depravity of their masters. Baator connects to the Prime Material Plane through the Astral Plane, allowing devils to influence mortals via infernal contracts and dark bargains. Here, torment is legal, hierarchy is sacred, and every soul is a resource. The plane functions like a malevolent machine: relentless, bureaucratic, and exacting. Its devils thrive in this environment, endlessly plotting to expand their dominion.

Baldur's Gate

Baldur's Gate, a bustling metropolis on the Sword Coast, is a crescent-shaped city hugging Gray Harbor. Primarily human, it's a hub of commerce and diverse faiths, including Gond, Tymora, and Umberlee. The city is divided into the wealthy Upper City, the busy Lower City, and the sprawling Outer City. The Upper City boasts grand structures like High Hall and the Watch Citadel, while the Lower City, built on bluffs, teems with trade and taverns like the Elfsong. A network of sewers and hidden tunnels lies beneath. The city is ruled by the Council of Four and the Parliament of Peers, with the Flaming Fists maintaining order. Trade flourishes, with imports of stone and exports of dyes and fish. The city's history is marked by its founding by Balduran, a tax revolt, and various conflicts, including the recent Absolute Plot. The city's coat of arms, a ship on calm waters, reflects its maritime trade and peaceful neutrality.

Beorunna's Well

Beorunna’s Well marks a bleak wound on the edge of the Druarwood, a massive, gaping pit that plunges into the black heart of the Underdark. Once the spiritual and communal center of the Black Lion tribe of the Uthgardt barbarians, the surrounding huts and totems now lie in quiet ruin, overtaken by moss and silence. Legends tell of the mighty hero Beorunna, who made his last stand here against a great demon, his sacrifice said to have split the earth itself. The pit is revered by some as a sacred site, feared by others as a cursed wound that never healed. The air around it carries a deep chill, even in summer, and strange whispers are said to rise from below when the moon is dark. Few dare to descend, for the tunnels beneath lead to the Underdark’s hungering horrors. Still, some Uthgardt return here to offer rites or seek visions, though many vanish into the deep. Beorunna’s Well is a place where legend, loss, and lurking evil coil beneath a shroud of ancient silence.

Berdusk

Berdusk, the "Jewel of the Vale," shines as a thriving city in the Western Heartlands, nestled where the Uldoon Trail meets the River Chionthar. Fortified by stout stone walls and steep-roofed buildings built for harsh winters, the city exudes an air of order and industrious prosperity. Renowned for its skilled artisans, Berdusk exports fine furniture, tools, and ornate goods that are highly prized across Faerûn. Clean, well-managed streets—thanks to an advanced sewage system—testify to the city's thoughtful design. High Lady Lashantha Duarn presides with measured grace, influenced by the discreet wisdom of the Harpers, whose stronghold at Twilight Hall makes Berdusk a subtle center of power and lore. Political life revolves around the First Folk, five wealthy families who help guide the city’s future. Now a key component of Elturgard, Berdusk bridges trade, diplomacy, and cultural exchange, serving as a crucial stop between the merchant coasts and the spiritual light of Elturel.

Blackford Crossing

Blackford Crossing, a bustling trade town straddling the Mirar River, serves as a vital midpoint between Luskan and Mirabar. Its cobbled streets, worn smooth by countless merchant wagons, hum with the bartering of diverse folk: humans, the majority, alongside hardy dwarves, graceful elves, and ingenious gnomes. The town's layout reflects its economic disparity, with the northern bank boasting wealthier establishments and well-maintained warehouses, while the southern side houses more modest dwellings and rougher taverns. A tri-council of merchants, citizens, and guards, currently led by Mayor Ianna Talltree, governs the town, ensuring a steady flow of goods along the Blackford Road. Though lacking its own significant production, Blackford Crossing thrives on the exchange of wares from the north and south. The river, a wide, gray ribbon, cuts through the town, reflecting the constant movement of barges and small ships carrying timber, ores, and finished goods.

Blackford Road

The Blackford Road is a rugged overland trade route linking the fortified city of Mirabar with the coastal stronghold of Luskan in northwest Faerûn. Though lesser known than the High Road or Long Road, Blackford has long served as a vital artery for the transport of ore, stone, and arms from Mirabar’s deep mines to the docks of Luskan, where goods are shipped south or traded to the savage frontier beyond the Spine of the World. By 1370 DR, the road had become a contested stretch, regularly plagued by bandits, trolls, and worse. Though the Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan once maintained magical watchposts along the route, most have since fallen to disrepair or destruction. The road cuts across frost-bitten tundra, dark pine forests, and stony hill country, where many small, fortified waystations have risen—and fallen—in the long struggle to keep the trade flowing.

Blackgate

Blackgate, a sprawling Outer City district north of Baldur’s Gate, lies just beyond the looming Black Dragon Gate, serving as the city’s northern threshold to the Trade Way. Built entirely outside the walls, it grew around the needs of merchants, caravaneers, and drovers bound for Waterdeep and beyond. Its broad, dirt-packed streets are lined with enormous stables, cartwrights’ yards, and supply depots. Despite its proximity to the wealth and order of the Upper City, Blackgate remains outside the official jurisdiction of the Watch or Flaming Fist. Instead, the Guild—Baldur’s organized crime syndicate—maintains a subtle but dominant presence, ensuring a rough form of stability through protection rackets and guild-sanctioned businesses. While the rest of the city enjoys regulated law, Blackgate thrives in the space between control and chaos. Here, deals are struck in whispers, coin changes hands in shadow, and the Guild’s sigil offers more security than any soldier’s oath.

Blacklake District

The Blacklake District, a once-proud quarter of Neverwinter, now languishes in decay, its gloom mirrored in the still, tainted waters of its namesake lake. Once a haven for the city’s elite, the district fell into ruin during the Wailing Death and has yet to recover, now strangled under the iron grip of the Nashers—a rebellious faction turned gang. Fear and desperation rule the streets, where hiring mercenaries for protection is as common as bartering for food. The crumbling neighborhoods of the Tatters and Riverside hug the lake’s southeastern edge, connected by a single, timeworn bridge barely holding against rot. Below the district, the Blacklake Sewers twist in a maze of half-flooded passages and forgotten chambers, remnants of old infrastructure and arcane ruin. The air hangs heavy with mildew and unrest. Shadowed alleys conceal desperate plots, and whispers of rebellion and long-buried magic simmer beneath the surface. Blacklake is not just broken—it resents being forgotten.

Bloomridge

Tucked along the western edge of Gray Harbor, Bloomridge is a rare bloom of elegance in the otherwise rugged sprawl of Baldur’s Gate’s Lower City. Home to affluent merchants, retired sea captains, and wealthy landowners, the district is a showcase of aspiration—Lower City residents emulating the grandeur of their Upper City betters. Some manors are built directly into the crumbling mass of the Old Wall, their foundations braced with reinforced stone and subtle magical glyphs to ensure stability. Bloomridge’s streets are marked by graceful terracing, with wide, curving staircases and polished balustrades connecting multi-leveled plazas. Upscale eateries, cafes, and bespoke clothiers fill the airy corners, while hired lantern bearers and private guards ensure Bloomridge remains well-lit and quietly watched. Though it sits below the gates of privilege, Bloomridge climbs ever upward in spirit and style.

Boareskyr Bridge

Boareskyr Bridge, a formidable black granite span over the Winding Water, serves as a vital artery connecting Soubar, Triel, Scornubel to Waterdeep and the Trade Way. Sculpted images of Cyric and Bhaal adorn its sides, a grim reminder of their clash during the Time of Troubles. Rebuilt upon the ruins of Bridgefort after 1450 DR, it was once patrolled by Elturgard paladins, now a bustling semi-permanent trading hub. White tents dot the landscape, alongside corrals and blacksmiths, forming a vibrant marketplace. Once controlled by the Boareskyr family, the bridge now sees a mix of travelers and merchants. Detailed battle maps, like those shared online, enable adventurers to navigate its strategic significance in D&D campaigns, showcasing its role as both a landmark and a point of conflict.

Border Forest

The Border Forest, a sprawling expanse of mixed pines and oaks, marks the convergence of the Dalelands, Anauroch, the Tortured Land, and the Moonsea. Once the sylvan elven Rystall Wood, its ancient history is now largely obscured, replaced by a wild, untamed terrain. Thick undergrowth hampers travel, while the forest's heart teems with hostile fey, their aggression fueled by past logging. Within its depths, the ruins of the Flaming Tower, a fire giant construct now claimed by a beholder and its goblin horde, stand as a grim reminder of past conflicts. Eldreth Veluuthra cells, supported by the fey, raid the Daggerdale border and ambush Zhentarim agents. To the north, the perilous ravines and knife-edged ridges conceal the ruins of Myth Ondath. The Grandfather Tree, a sentient entity, warps the forest, its purpose to contain ancient evils. Mount Ghaethluntar, a flind domain, looms as a threat.

Brampton

Tucked into the southeastern fringe of Baldur’s Gate’s Lower City, Brampton is a grimy, wind-beaten quarter hemmed between Gray Harbor and the outskirts of Rivington. Officially a working-class dockside district, Brampton has long served as a haven for smugglers, fishmongers, and stevedores. Its easternmost position in the city makes it isolated from Upper City clientele, pushing most legitimate trade westward and leaving Brampton to become a hub for under-the-table deals and midnight shipments. The route south into Rivington allows goods—and fugitives—to bypass city tariffs, drawing the eye of both coin-hungry smugglers and watchful patriars. Warehouses dominate the harborfront, owned by hardened merchant syndicates and mercantile guilds who often look the other way when shipments “go missing.” Despite its rough reputation, Brampton remains essential to the city’s trade web, a shadow artery feeding Baldur’s Gate’s hunger for goods both legal and illicit.

Brokenstone Vale

Brokenstone Vale, nestled within the twilight-drenched Feywild, presents a stark contrast to its surrounding ethereal beauty. A realm of lycanthropes, it's a shadowed expanse of dense, howling forests, punctuated by ancient standing stones that delineate pack territories. Hidden glades serve as clandestine meeting places, echoing with the raw, untamed spirit of its inhabitants. Forged from conflict, this kingdom of outcasts stands defiant against the neighboring eladrin realms, its history etched in battles for freedom. Though its exterior is rough, the Vale offers a strange sanctuary for those rejected by both mortal and fey societies, a wild bastion of resilience in the Feywild's ever-shifting landscape. The amplified arcane magic of the Feywild permeates the Vale, influencing its inhabitants and the environment, making it a dangerous yet compelling location. The unpredictable flow of time and the distorted geography present unique challenges to any who dare to traverse its borders.

Brost

Brost, colloquially known as the Mushroom Village, nestles in northern Tethyr along the central stretch of the Tethir Road, making it a key waypoint for trade caravans crossing the Lands of Intrigue. Its nickname stems from the region’s damp microclimate and the curious abundance of edible and alchemical mushrooms cultivated both in shaded groves and within stone-rooted cellars. While some conflicting maps mistakenly place Brost in Amn, its longstanding ties and governance fall squarely within Tethyr’s domain. Despite its relatively small size, the village is a bustling waystop, its economy thriving on trade, hospitality, and rare fungal goods. Inns, stables, and supply depots serve the constant flow of travelers, while locals pride themselves on discretion, making Brost a favorite for merchants moving sensitive cargo. Though not fortified, its people are resourceful, and the community maintains quiet vigilance against brigands and intrigue.

Caer Callidyrr

Caer Callidyrr, the alabaster jewel of Alaron, rises majestically from a coastal hill, its towering castle, the Moonshaes' highest structure, dominating the landscape. This city, the Ffolk's capital and seat of the High King, is a vibrant hub divided into distinct quarters: the regal Castle Quarter, the verdant Forest Quarter, the sprawling Plains Quarter, and the bustling Dock Quarter. To the west, ancient forests whisper secrets, while the eastern ocean stretches endlessly. Within the city's walls reside the royal court, stalwart guards, arcane wizards, and a diverse citizenry, their lives intertwined with the castle's storied history. Detailed maps and cross-sections reveal the city's intricate layout, including hidden caverns beneath the castle's foundations. The distinction between Callidyrr, the kingdom, and Caer Callidyrr, the city and castle, often blurs, yet its significance as a center of power and lore remains undeniable, a focal point of Moonshae intrigue and adventure.

Caer Corwell Ruins

Caer Corwell, a once-proud stronghold of House Kendrick on Gwynneth, now stands as a desolate ruin, a testament to forgotten glory. Crumbling stone walls and shattered towers rise amidst overgrown weeds, concealing a labyrinth of boggle-laid traps and mischievous fey tricks. Wild beasts roam the abandoned town, adding to the peril. The island of Gwynneth, once a vibrant hub of fey influence in the southern Moonshae Isles, now echoes with the unsettling silence of decay, punctuated by the skittering sounds of its current inhabitants. This nexus of Faerûn, the Feywild, and the Shadowfell retains a potent, if corrupted, mystical aura, drawing both ambitious rulers like High King Derid, seeking to reclaim its strategic importance, and the capricious creatures that now claim it as their own. The ruins, a treacherous maze of broken stone and wild magic, present a formidable challenge to any who dare venture within.

Caer Moray

Caer Moray, a fortified coastal town nestled on northern Moray where the Shannyth River meets the sea, stands as a bastion against the wilds of the Moonshae Isles. Encircled by a sturdy wooden palisade, it houses 1,500 souls fiercely loyal to the High King, maintaining a vital port for trade and defense. This town endures frequent, though largely ineffective, assaults from the Black Blood lycanthrope tribe, a constant threat that tests its resilience. The Battle of Caer Moray, a particularly fierce nocturnal attack, saw the lycanthropes breach the walls, only to be halted by the divine intervention of Chauntea, forever marking the town's history. Despite the looming threat and its turbulent past, Caer Moray remains a crucial stronghold, its port a lifeline, and its defenders a bulwark against the darkness that seeks to consume the island, making it a pivotal location for adventurers navigating the perils of the Forgotten Realms.

Caer Westphal

Caer Westphal, a scaled-down echo of Caer Callidyrr, stands sentinel on Snowdown Ride's southern coast, its stone ramparts gazing over the bustling city of Westphal. Once the seat of the vampiric Lady Erliza Daressin, its shadowed halls now whisper tales of dark dominion. The city below, a rare urban sprawl in the Moonshaes, rivals the likes of Baldur's Gate or Waterdeep in its density, its streets teeming with life. The harbor, a constant churn of Amnian vessels, pulses with trade and intrigue. Near the docks, raucous taverns and brothels cater to the sea-worn, their lights flickering against the castle's looming silhouette. A place of stark contrasts, Caer Westphal and its city blend the imposing might of a coastal fortress with the vibrant chaos of a major trade hub, a nexus of power and vice in the wild Moonshae Isles.

Candlekeep

Candlekeep, perched atop a coastal bluff south of Baldur’s Gate, stands as Faerûn’s most revered repository of knowledge. Enclosed by towering, cyclopean walls and sealed behind its famous emerald gates, the fortress-library admits only those who offer a tome not yet held within—ensuring its ever-growing, meticulously curated collection. Within, sages, monks, and mages devote their lives to study, their candlelit chambers and vaulted reading halls echoing with hushed inquiry and arcane debate. More than mere sanctuary, Candlekeep is a crucible of mystery. Seventeen magical volumes hidden among its collection open doorways—both literal and figurative—into extraplanar realms, ancient conflicts, and lost truths, beckoning adventurers of every tier. Though serene in appearance, the library holds its share of peril, from cursed texts to long-buried evils that stir in the shadows. In Candlekeep, knowledge is power, but also danger, and those who seek it must tread with reverence & curiosity.

Cania

Cania, the eighth layer of Baator, is a realm of killing cold and unforgiving isolation, ruled by the archdevil Mephistopheles. This glacial dominion is a wasteland of razor-edged ice, blackened crevasses, and relentless blizzards that can flay flesh and soul alike. Towering glaciers shift like titanic beasts, reshaping the land and hiding deadly chasms. Mephistopheles governs from Mephistar, a vast, infernally heated citadel atop the glacier Nargus, where his obsession with arcane research shapes every policy. His trusted lieutenant, the pit fiend Hutijin, oversees enforcement while spies from Dis and other layers constantly seek the forbidden knowledge buried here. Scattered across Cania are hidden laboratories and long-lost cities like Kintyre, entombed beneath ice, guarded by gelugons. At its deepest point lies the Pit, a closely watched passage into Nessus. In Cania, magic and survival intertwine; it is both crucible and prison, a layer of secrecy and scholarly menace.

Carlsmere

Carlsmere, once a jewel of Tethyr’s summer estates, now decays beneath salt-swept winds along the lonely shores of the Dragon’s Teeth Lagoon. Built with elegant arches, whitewashed stone, and vibrant gardens, it served as a retreat for the royal family—until tragedy shattered its serenity. Over two centuries ago, during a ferocious storm, Prince Valys murdered his kin, including Princess Majal, within its halls in a fit of madness and ambition. Since then, the estate has stood abandoned, its opulence surrendered to ivy, rust, and ruin. The air hangs heavy with sorrow, and strange lights flicker in broken windows during moonless nights. Though nature claws at its bones, Carlsmere has never truly fallen silent; adventurers and treasure-seekers are drawn by rumors of lost wealth, royal heirlooms, and the ghostly echoes of betrayal. Some say the spirits of the slain still walk its shadowed halls, unwilling—or unable—to rest. Carlsmere endures as both a cautionary tale and a mystery.

Carnival Eternal

The Carnival Eternal festers within a vile depression of Maladomini, Baalzebul’s rot-choked realm in the Nine Hells. Hidden beneath slag hills and shattered towers, this grotesque playground sprawls beneath a rusted iron sluice that pours constant filth onto the warped pavilions below. Reserved for Baalzebul’s most “productive” servants—those who corrupt the greatest number of souls—the Carnival offers warped reward in the form of carnal indulgence, violent spectacle, and sickening revelry. Each “vacation” is granted based on soul tallies, with higher counts earning longer stays amid the squalor. Here, twisted music never stops, and grotesque jugglers, tormentors, and barkers ply infernal wares. The hall of mirrors reflects not truth but delusions of dominion. A nearby black market trades in forbidden contraband: demon hearts, stolen relics, and phylacteries ripe for betrayal. It is a place of excess, deception, and moral rot—a parody of pleasure, curated by damnation itself.

Castle Hartwick

Castle Hartwick, a fortress of stark, whitened granite, rises dramatically from a sheer granite spire amidst the Clear Whirl River, its forested island a bastion of Hartsvale. Spruce trees cling to the rock, obscuring the base, while flying turrets pierce the sky, bristling with ballistae. Access is granted by two drawbridges, east and west, guarding the island's secrets. Within its walls, the Giants' Gate stands ready for colossal visitors, a testament to the castle's grandeur. Queen Brianna Burdun, seated upon the Alabaster Throne, a dwarven gift, commands the loyalty of her High Dukes and Wind Barons, her influence stretching across the Cold Marches, Lake Fiefs, and Ice Spires. This strategic stronghold, steeped in lore, offers adventurers a labyrinth of chambers and a nexus of political intrigue, its defenses and history ripe for exploration.

Castle Ward

The Castle Ward forms the vibrant, beating heart of Waterdeep, where authority, arcane might, and bustling commerce converge. Crowned by Castle Waterdeep itself, a fortified bastion set high atop the Mount, this district commands both the city and the sea with its commanding presence and magically fortified walls. Within its marbled halls, Waterdeep's Lords and administrators shape policy and prepare defenses. Piergeiron’s Palace, once home to the beloved Open Lord, now serves as a grand civic hall hosting courtly affairs and high council deliberations. To the east, the Great Market sprawls with traders, minstrels, and exotic wares—reputedly the largest open market in the North. Blackstaff Tower and Ahghairon’s Tower rise like twin pillars of wizardly vigilance, silently warding the ward from arcane threats. Mirt’s Mansion, half-palace and half-maze, whispers with secrets and intrigue. Shield Street and Julthoon Street form the district’s boundaries.

Caverns of Levistus

The Caverns of Levistus lie buried in shadow beneath a realm of perpetual twilight, a sinuous labyrinth of obsidian tunnels and echoing stone halls that stretch endlessly into the dark. Despite Levistus's eternal imprisonment in a glacial tomb in Stygia, his influence here is undeniable—every wall vibrates with sibilant whispers, each a lie, secret, or betrayal uttered across the planes. This infernal warren serves as a nexus of espionage, where fiendish spies and mortal agents gather to trade secrets and weave pacts. Illusory corridors and false echoes lead wanderers astray, while scrying pools bubble with scenes from distant courts and war councils. The air is damp and claustrophobic, thick with the weight of treachery. Though Levistus remains frozen far away, his will manifests here in shadowy presences and chilling murmurs, guiding his cults and infiltrators with quiet precision. Those who linger too long often lose themselves—to madness, or to temptation.

Chronias, the Illuminated Heaven

Chronias, the Illuminated Heaven, crowns the summit of Mount Celestia as its seventh and final layer—a realm so suffused with pure law and goodness that few mortal or even divine beings can withstand its radiance. Shrouded in luminous mystery, Chronias is not a place one simply visits; it is a state of being, a spiritual culmination. No known structure or landscape has been definitively recorded, as those who reach it either transcend their former selves or never return. The very essence of the plane burns away all trace of evil and even neutrality, remaking the soul in perfect harmony with cosmic order. Here, radiant light does not shine—it is—permeating every breath, thought, and vibration. The air hums with celestial resonance, a harmonic convergence of will and benevolence. Many faiths see Chronias as the true home of their lawful good gods, with lower layers of Mount Celestia serving as trials or sanctuaries for the imperfect. It is not a destination, but ascension incarnate.

Citadel Adbar

Citadel Adbar, carved into the rugged Ice Mountains, stands as one of Faerûn’s most impenetrable strongholds and the last great bastion of ancient Delzoun. Hewn from solid granite and iron-veined stone, its immense halls and forge-choked corridors resonate with the steady rhythm of dwarven industry. Home to the famed Iron Guard, elite warriors unmatched in discipline and defense, Adbar has withstood centuries of siege, particularly from relentless orcish assaults. Beneath its mountainous crown lies a vast subterranean city, capable of sheltering up to 60,000 dwarves, though the current population is far smaller—its dwindling numbers a testament to years of war, hardship, and isolation. Traps and choke-points guard every tunnel, while its surface gates remain tightly sealed to most outsiders. Though it trades in masterwork arms and rare ores with the Silver Marches, Adbar opens slowly and rarely. Those who enter find a realm of fierce pride, solemn tradition, and steel-clad vigilance.

Citadel Felbarr

Citadel Felbarr, nestled at the Rauvin Mountains' base along the Redrun, stands as a formidable dwarven fortress, a testament to resilience and craftsmanship. Its imposing defenses, the Hammer and Anvil gates, alongside North and South Vigil outposts bristling with ballistae and catapults, guard a city renowned for gem-encrusted weaponry and iron golem creation. Within its stone walls, Clan Warcrown's ever-expanding burial site holds deep reverence. Trade flourishes, linking Felbarr to Mithral Hall, Citadel Adbar, and distant cities through Underdark tunnels and surface caravans. Notable locales include Malti's Wondrous Armory, a crystalline building housing a dragon-shaped forge, and Wene's Wands, a shop stocked with arcane treasures. This citadel, ruled by King Morinn and Queen Tithmel, has weathered orcish occupations and fire giant incursions, remaining a pivotal stronghold in the Silver Marches.

Citadel Streets

Tucked against the northern edge of the Upper City, the Citadel Streets form a secluded and purpose-driven enclave dominated by law and order. This small, walled subdistrict is home to the Watch Citadel, the formidable bastion that serves as headquarters, barracks, and training grounds for the Watch—the elite constabulary responsible for maintaining peace and decorum in the Upper City. Unlike the bustling avenues of nearby districts, Citadel Streets is stern and regulated, its every stone echoing the presence of Baldur’s Gate’s guardians. Civilian access is limited, and the few surrounding buildings cater directly to the Watch’s logistical and operational needs: armories, mess halls, and disciplinary chambers. While it lacks the grandeur of the High Hall or the wealth of Manorborn, Citadel Streets is nonetheless a cornerstone of the city’s authority—both respected and resented for its role in enforcing the law among Baldur’s Gate’s privileged elite.

City of the Dead

The City of the Dead, Waterdeep’s expansive necropolis-ward, is both a place of final rest and a living, breathing facet of the city’s daily rhythm. Enclosed by high stone walls and patrolled by respectful watchmen, it serves as Waterdeep’s grand cemetery—but unlike any other. By day, its lush gardens, manicured paths, and towering mausoleums become a public park where citizens picnic, fence, court, and converse. Children play beneath weeping willows, while sun-dappled clearings host lunch gatherings and strolling minstrels. Designated dueling greens buzz with the clash of steel, and quiet corners shelter secret rendezvous and whispered dealings. Despite its purpose, the ward hums with life—its solemn gravestones and crypts embraced as part of the city’s cultural identity. At dusk, the ward empties, returning to tranquil silence until dawn. The City of the Dead is where Waterdhavians embrace life without forgetting death—a sacred contradiction that defines the heart of the city.

Cloakwood

Cloakwood sprawls like a clenched shadow south of Baldur’s Gate, its ancient boughs interwoven into a near-impenetrable canopy that drowns the forest in perpetual gloom. Roots twist like grasping fingers, and dense undergrowth muffles even the boldest footfalls. This haunting woodland, long avoided by sensible travelers, teems with deadly life: massive spiders nest in silken traps, while quicklings and korreds flit through the dark like taunting phantoms. Satyrs lure the curious with mocking laughter, only to vanish into vine-choked hollows, and swarms of stirges descend in buzzing clouds. More dreadfully, nightmare-spawn like kampfults stalk the underbrush, drawn to fear and isolation. Legends persist of forgotten portals hidden in the forest’s heart—rumored gates to far-flung corners of Faerûn, though Candlekeep’s sages debate their veracity. Cloakwood remains a crucible of dread and enchantment, a place where nature’s wild magic turns hostile.

Cloud Peaks

The Cloud Peaks rise like a shattered crown along Amn’s northern edge, a formidable mountain range whose jagged summits claw defiantly at the sky. Though narrow in breadth, their steep elevation and volatile climate make them a treacherous natural barrier. Mount Speartop, the range’s tallest peak, looms as a snow-cloaked sentinel, its slopes scoured by freezing gales and sudden avalanches. The Fangs—twin, ice-slicked crags that flank the Trade Way—demand courage and caution, their sheer cliffs known to claim the unprepared. Remorhazes burrow beneath the frostbitten earth, and territorial dragons haunt hidden aeries among the snow-laden ridges. Scattered across high plateaus lie ancient ruins—weatherworn remnants of the fallen Shoon Empire and mythic echoes of a vanished red wyrm’s domain. Despite the danger, the Cloud Peaks remain a vital—if perilous—passage between Amn and the Sword Coast, their wild majesty hiding both peril and forgotten power for those daring enough to seek it.

Cormanthor

Cormanthor, once the glorious Myth Drannor, stands as a haunting testament to elven grandeur and loss. Now a patchwork of restored beauty and crumbling ruins, the city reflects centuries of conflict. Elves, under the Coronal Ilsevele Miritar, cautiously reclaim their heritage, ruling from the fortified Semberholme amidst remnants of the first mythal. The scars of the Dusk, a long decline marked by drow infestation and Daemonfey incursions, are visible throughout the city’s shadowed streets and overgrown plazas. The woods, once abandoned during the Retreat, now echo with the renewed vigilance of elven patrols, safeguarding against lingering threats. The aftermath of the Cormanthor War, a clash of human kingdoms and elven crusaders, has left both healing wounds and lingering tensions. Whispers of ancient magic and the echoes of past battles permeate the air, creating an atmosphere of both hope and lingering sorrow within the old elven capital.

Cormyr

Cormyr, known as the Forest Kingdom, endures as a realm of regal legacy and martial pride, though its golden age now bears deep fractures. Verdant woodlands and fortified cities—symbols of Obarskyr rule—are increasingly marred by unrest: bandits roam the roads, remnants of orc hordes fester in the wilds, and scars from the Goblin War remain unhealed. Internal strife brews as noble houses vie for power and land, while external pressures mount—Sembian merchants manipulate coin and influence, the Zhentarim plot from shadow, and the Cult of the Dragon poisons from within. The mysterious fall of Tilverton left the northeast unstable, inviting further peril as the City of Shade and the haunted remnants of Myth Drannor loom ominously near. Regent Alusair Obarskyr, bold and unyielding, commands the Purple Dragon Knights and War Wizards to hold the realm together. Though battered, Cormyr still stands—its banner high, its legacy of valor and unity tested but not yet broken.

Crimmor

Crimmor, famed as the Caravan Capital of Amn, sprawls along the Alandor River’s southern bank, a fortress-city built upon dust, wheels, and coin. Its skyline bristles with tall, narrow stone buildings, their exteriors carved with grim-faced gargoyles and ardragon effigies, watching over endless rows of bustling caravan-yards and merchant stalls. Three major wards—River, Wheel, and Purse—divide the city by trade, traffic, and wealth, each alive with shouting hawkers, haggling traders, and wagonmasters. The Crimmor Guard, clad in red tabards over chainmail and marked with the city’s golden crest, maintain a visible, if pragmatic, order. Dominating every facet of overland trade is the Crimmor merchant family, a powerful dynasty whose influence stretches from cartwright guilds to guard-for-hire rosters, even overseeing distant waystations. Every caravan entering Amn’s interior crosses Crimmor’s threshold, and its streets hum with the layered languages and agendas of a thousand roads.

Daggerford

Nestled along the Shining River, Daggerford presents a fortified town, its stone walls encircling roughly 900 inhabitants, a number that swells to over 2,000 when considering the outlying farms and hamlets. With aspirations to rival the grandeur of Waterdeep, this strategically positioned locale boasts a bustling, if somewhat contained, atmosphere. The town's architecture reflects a blend of practical defense and burgeoning ambition, with sturdy buildings lining well-worn streets leading to the ducal keep. While a duke or duchess, claiming descent from the ancient Delimbiyr kingdom, holds nominal rule, the Council of Guilds shoulders the day-to-day administration, giving the town a unique blend of noble authority and mercantile influence. The surrounding countryside, fertile and well-tended, provides sustenance and trade, making Daggerford a vital, if still growing, point along the Sword Coast.

Darkhold

Darkhold, a foreboding fortress of black stone, juts from the Grey Watcher in the Far Hills, a grim testament to the Zhentarim's dark power. This imposing stronghold, the westernmost of their three bastions, serves as the nexus of their nefarious slave trade and a staging ground for incursions into the Heartlands. While Zhentarim agents publicly claim to protect trade, the fortress secretly unleashes monstrous horrors and collaborates with goblin and orc tribes to sabotage rivals. Riddled with deadly traps and linked to Zhentil Keep and the Citadel of the Raven by secret portals, Darkhold is a labyrinth of dark magic, accessible only to the Inner Circle. The fortress, once commanded by the chilling Pereghost with his skull helm and intelligent blade, Determination, echoes with tales of undead minions and dark spells, casting a long shadow of fear across the realms.

Deepwing Mountains

The Deepwing Mountains rise in craggy defiance between the Orsraun and Cloven ranges, a rugged frontier west of the Vilhon Reach and southeast of the Shining Plains. Their steep, wind-scarred ridges form a natural barrier, their heights gradually descending into the rough expanse of the Rushing Hills to the west. Jagged and treacherous, the Deepwings are notorious for harboring deadly winged predators—chief among them red dragons whose roars echo across desolate peaks. Few dare the narrow trails or shadowed passes without significant force or magical aid. In the southwest lies the Spines of Surkh, a grim subrange guarding ancient, half-buried tombs of long-dead lizardfolk chieftains. These cryptic ruins surround the reclusive site of Surkh itself, where primal magics and serpentine wards endure. Scant settlements cling to the lower slopes, more often abandoned than thriving. The Deepwing Mountains remain a symbol of Faerûn’s untamed wilds.

Delimbiyr River

The Delimbiyr River—reverently called the River Shining by those who dwell along its banks—is a major waterway that flows from the icy heights of the Nether Mountains through the heart of the Savage Frontier and into the Western Heartlands. Its sparkling, sweet-tasting waters trace a meandering but vital course: from its trio of headwaters in the mountains, down through Delimbiyr Vale, then west past Loudwater, Secomber, and Daggerford before vanishing into the swampy tangle of the Lizard Marsh. It is joined along the way by notable tributaries, including the Unicorn Run, River Greyflow, and River Starsilver. Sacred to many druids and considered a blessing by nearby towns and travelers, the river is also a conduit of culture and commerce, with ancient elven ruins, dwarven bridges, and human trade posts scattered along its shores. Its waters are known for a peculiar, mint-like taste, said by locals to be a gift from the fey spirits of the High Forest.

Dernall Forest

Dernall Forest sprawls across central Alaron, a vibrant yet perilous woodland. The Swanmay River carves a path through its heart, flowing southeast, while the High King's Road cuts north to south, a vital but often treacherous route. Its northern edge meets the rugged Fairheight Range, while to the west, it merges into the murky, coastal Drowned Forest. To the east, the forest gives way to the open fields of Talffolk. Within its depths, ancient trees cast long shadows, obscuring hidden paths and the lairs of creatures both fey and fierce. A trail, barely discernible, separates it from the smaller Lord's Forest near Aithelar, a reminder of the fragmented nature of these wild lands. Adventurers should tread carefully, for the forest's beauty conceals dangers, and the shifting borders with the Drowned Forest make navigation challenging. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and the sounds of unseen creatures echo through the dense undergrowth.

Desertsmouth Mountains

The jagged Desertsmouth Mountains, a desolate barrier between the verdant Dalelands and the sun-scorched Anauroch, rise like skeletal fingers against the sky. Barren peaks, riddled with monstrous lairs, conceal rich veins of adamantine and iron, tempting the desperate and the greedy. Orcs, ogres, and goblinoids stalk the shadowed slopes, remnants of hordes that once overwhelmed the human settlement of Tarkhaldale, now a ruin in the western foothills near the lair of the dracolich Ashazstamn. Within these crags, the dwarven realm of Tethyamar, once a refuge and now a Zhentarim stronghold, echoes with the clang of forgotten industry. Scattered amongst the treacherous terrain are hidden tombs, like Shraevyn's final resting place in Giant's Craw Valley, and the old tomb of Shattershree, a silver dragon manipulating events from the shadows. Swordcrag, a reformed orc fortress, stands as a testament to the mountains' savage nature.

Dis

Dis, the infernal second layer of Baator, is a sprawling, nightmarish metropolis of iron and shadow, ruled with paranoid vigilance by the archdevil Dispater. The Iron City itself stretches endlessly, its searing-hot buildings and streets constantly shifting, creating a labyrinth that confounds even devils. The oppressive heat, resistant to most magic, makes prolonged presence unbearable for mortals. Smoky skies and shrieking winds cast the city in a perpetual pall, while the barren plains and warped iron mountains surrounding it distort time and space. The Styx threads through this realm, serving as both a deadly hazard and a passage to Minauros. Notable locales include the Iron Tower—Dispater's mobile fortress of secrets and schemes—the soul-prisoning Fetters, and the Garden of Delights, a cruel façade that entraps the unwary. Portals to Dis from Avernus are rare and guarded, including one watched by the dragon goddess Tiamat. Dis is the dark heart of strategy in the Blood War.

Dis, The Iron City

Dis, the Iron City, is both the capital and embodiment of the plane that shares its name—the second layer of Baator. Forged of blackened, red-hot iron, this infernal metropolis sprawls endlessly, its size so great that scholars debate whether it constitutes the entirety of the layer. Governed by Dispater, the ever-wary Lord of the Second, Dis is in constant flux: towers rise and fall overnight, streets shift unpredictably, and entire districts vanish or reappear at his whim. The city’s extreme heat scorches all who enter, its iron surfaces radiating infernal energy that resists magical cooling. Endless forges, foundries, and armories churn out weapons for the Blood War, while secret police and informants thrive in a culture of fear and obedience. The Iron Tower—Dispater’s mobile fortress—looms over the shifting cityscape, its location never fixed for long. Dis is a paradox of stability through paranoia, law enforced by madness, and order built on molten terror.

Dock Ward

The Dock Ward of Waterdeep, a sprawling, pungent hub of maritime activity, clings to the Great Harbor like barnacles to a ship's hull. Its docks teem with weathered sailors, gruff dockworkers, and the occasional lurking rogue. The air, thick with the stench of salt, fish, and ale, buzzes with the clamor of shipbuilding and trade. Deepwater Harbor splits into the bustling Great Harbor and the guarded Naval Harbor, while landmarks like Aurora's Emporium and the notorious Three Pearls Nightclub offer both commerce and clandestine encounters. The Guild of Watermen and the merfolk of Tharqualnaar struggle to maintain order amidst the chaos, while the mariners of the Guard patrol, ensuring the flow of goods and the suppression of the ward's inherent dangers. A stark contrast to the city's opulent districts, the Dock Ward is a place where wealth and poverty collide, offering a grimy, yet vibrant, setting for adventure.

Dragonspear Castle

Dragonspear Castle, perched on the northern edge of the High Moor, is a blighted ruin haunted by centuries of war and planar corruption. Originally built by Daeros Dragonspear as a proud dwarven-human stronghold, its legacy was marred when a gate to the Nine Hells was torn open within its depths. Since then, the castle has been the site of repeated infernal invasions—each Dragonspear War leaving more of its towers broken and its dungeons fouler than before. Today, its shattered battlements and half-buried halls serve as a magnet for cultists, demons, and desperate adventurers drawn by rumors of ancient dwarven vaults and lingering planar energies. Beneath the castle lies a network of ruined tunnels connecting to the Underdark and beyond. The Flaming Fist and other factions occasionally mount expeditions to contain its evils, but Dragonspear remains a cursed landmark—a wound upon the Weave that refuses to heal.

Draukari

Draukari is an expansive, subterranean warren deep beneath the surface of Faerûn, carved in painstaking detail by generations of kobolds in fervent devotion to Kurtulmak, their patron god of traps, cunning, and revenge. Hidden within the bowels of the Underdark or the lower reaches of a forgotten mountain, this labyrinthine stronghold bristles with deadly traps, illusory walls, false paths, and alarm tunnels—all engineered with ingenious cruelty. The inner sanctum houses shrines carved with Kurtulmak’s snout-like visage, surrounded by offerings of gems, stolen relics, and the bones of intruders. Draukari is both fortress and temple, a sacred home where tribal leaders, trapmasters, and dragon-blooded shamans hold sway, their loyalty absolute. To outsiders, it's a deathtrap; to kobolds, it’s salvation, legacy, and proof that even the smallest can endure through cleverness and faith. Few who enter Draukari uninvited ever emerge.

Dynnegall

Dynnegall, a modest fishing and peat-gathering village on the isle of Moray in the Moonshae Isles, rests quietly on the northeastern shore of Lac Dynnegall, a dark, placid lake steeped in ancient mystery. Fifteen miles south of the fortified Caer Moray, Dynnegall retains its independence and simplicity, its name a lingering homage to a long-dead Ffolk king. Its thatched cottages cluster tightly around the lake’s edge, where weather-worn boats serve daily fishing rituals. The nearby Breasal Marsh not only provides peat for warmth but also yields kryne—a starchy tuber essential to the village’s modest diet. Low mist frequently seeps inland from the marsh, cloaking Dynnegall in a dreamlike pallor. Here, life is quiet, insular, and bound to tradition. Locals are wary of travelers, having long endured the menace of the Black Blood lycanthropes that prowl Moray. Dynnegall remains a bastion of Ffolk resilience, its simple rhythms untouched by time.

Earthroot

Earthroot is one of the strangest and most primeval realms within the Underdark's Deep Wastes, a shadowed dominion lying beneath the Dragon Coast and the Shining Plains. Revered by earth deities and elementals, this demiplane-like realm pulses with ancient, mineral-rich power. Unlike the chaos of many Underdark regions, Earthroot’s geography is ordered and immense, its vaulted caverns supported by pillars of gleaming crystal, iron, and obsidian. Bioluminescent fungi carpet the stone, casting soft glows in greens, blues, and purples, while veins of rare ore run through its cavern walls like lifeblood. The realm is sacred to Grumbar, the elemental god of earth, and used by various deities as a neutral meeting ground due to its stability. Earthroot also serves as the divine conduit for earth-aligned power and planar travel. Yet explorers beware—beneath its silent grandeur lurk stone-bound horrors, sentient caverns, and primordial guardians that test any who would disturb its mysteries.

Easting

Easting, a modest yet thriving hamlet nestled between the Far Hills and the Dusk Road, sits just east of Iriaebor and serves as a quiet keystone of commerce in the Western Heartlands. Its proximity to hidden dwarven delves ensures a steady influx of precious metals, stonecraft, and expert smithing, while its lush meadows and temperate hills make it ideal for horse breeding—an industry that defines its local pride. Markets brim with exotic goods and unusual crafts, owed to the town’s eclectic population of humans, dwarves, halflings, and the occasional half-elf or gnome, many of whom have settled here from trade caravans. The famed botanist Rulthaven maintains extensive herbal gardens on the town’s edge, his tinctures and knowledge drawing both sages and adventurers. Easting's significance lies not in its size but in its strategic crossroads location—serving as a midpoint between mountain wealth and coast-bound trade, making it a valued waypoint on the merchant’s map.

Eastway

Tucked between the mercantile bustle of Brampton and the grit of Heapside, Eastway stands as one of Baldur’s Gate’s more dynamic subdistricts in the Lower City. Its close proximity to the Basilisk Gate makes it a waypoint for adventurers, traders, and mercenaries bound for the wilds beyond the city's walls—especially toward distant Chult. A constant churn of movement defines Eastway: wagon trains creak past hawkers peddling sun-resistant cloaks, and inns serve as transient homes to caravan masters and monster hunters. Its streets house renowned locales such as Eastway Expeditions, a vital supplier for jungle-bound expeditions, and the storied Elfsong Tavern, where the haunting voice of a long-dead elf still drifts on the air. The district’s martial soul is embodied by Garmult’s House of Mastery, where bruised knuckles and camaraderie are shared in equal measure among members of the famed Bannerless Legion. Eastway thrives on purpose, preparation, and the constant call of the road.

Elemental Planes

The Elemental Planes—Air, Fire, Earth, and Water—serve as the raw foundations of reality within the Great Wheel cosmology, embodying the untamed essence of creation. Each is governed by a primordial force: Grumbar anchors Earth’s unyielding stability, Akadi commands Air’s ceaseless motion, Istishia governs Water’s ever-shifting tides, and Kossuth reigns over Fire’s consuming blaze. These infinite realms lie beyond the Material Plane but are intrinsically connected to it through planar conduits, influencing everything from weather to magical energies. Between the four lie the paraelemental planes—Magma, Ice, Ooze, and Ash—formed where elemental forces intermingle. Quasi-elemental planes emerge further outward, blending elemental matter with the Positive or Negative Energy Planes. Adventurers navigating these volatile domains encounter alien landscapes, hostile natives like elementals or genies, and energies both wondrous and destructive. Their very existence sustains Faerûn’s balance.

Elturel

Elturel, once a radiant bastion of faith on the River Chionthar, now bears the indelible mark of its descent into Avernus. Though restored to the Mortal Plane, the city’s skyline is marred by collapsed spires and scorched stone, grim reminders of its infernal ordeal. The once-perpetual light of the Companion—now called the Amaunator’s Gift—flickers above, no longer divine but stubbornly present, a relic of celestial betrayal and mortal perseverance. The Hellriders, thinned in number but not in spirit, serve as guardians and living symbols of penance. The High District, home to once-proud nobility and temples to Torm and Lathander, lies partially in ruin, while the Dock District remains eerily subdued. The people of Elturel, scarred yet unbroken, strive to rebuild amid the rubble, their faith tested but not shattered. A tension lingers—between memory and redemption, between ash and sunrise—as the city clings to hope in the shadow of damnation.

Elturgard

Elturgard, once a unified theocracy basking under the ever-burning light of the Companion, now grapples with disillusionment and division. Its capital, Elturel, scarred by its descent into Avernus and miraculous return, serves as both heart and wound of the realm. With the Companion extinguished and the divine mandate of eternal daylight broken, the land again knows night—and with it, fear and uncertainty. The once-revered Order of the Companion, led by paladins and priests sworn to Lathander and Torm, is diminished, their purity questioned and faith shaken. In the countryside, hamlets like Triel and towns like Berdusk and Scornubel carry on, but wariness reigns. The rise of tiefling refugees, born of Avernus’s shadow, has stoked unrest, forcing once-pious citizens to confront their prejudice. The fields and woods still bloom, but the light of Elturgard flickers now—less a divine radiance, and more the dim fire of a people struggling to redefine themselves.

Elversult

Elversult, gleaming along the southern shore of the Dragonmere, thrives as a beacon of commerce and culture amid the storm-lashed coast. Its winding streets bustle with traders from Sembia, Cormyr, and the Vilhon Reach, their goods exchanging hands beneath colorful awnings and ornate rooftops. Once guided by the firm yet diplomatic rule of Lady Yanseldara and Lady Vaerana Hawklyn, the city now stands as the proud capital of the nascent Kingdom of the Stormlands, under King Stannis Cherellion—a political upheaval that shook Cormyr’s foundations. Elversult’s significance as the rebirth site of Amaunator’s faith adds divine weight to its reputation, where the second sun once burned in celestial glory. Yet beneath the shine lies shadow: the Cult of the Dragon still weaves influence through smuggler routes and secret shrines. Opulence and subterfuge coexist here, a city as quick to inspire wonder as it is to harbor danger.

Endless Ice Sea

The Endless Ice Sea, Faerûn’s northernmost frontier, sprawls beyond the Spine of the World in an unforgiving expanse of frozen desolation. Stretching east from the Reghed Glacier, this immense sheet of jagged ice and howling wind forms a natural barrier between civilization and the unknown. Its surface groans beneath shifting glacial plates, concealing crevasses, caves of blue ice, and ancient secrets frozen in time. Orc warbands and goblin tribes prowl its outskirts, while monstrous predators like remorhaz and yeti haunt the deeper tundra. Legends whisper of lost Netherese relics buried beneath the ice, drawing foolhardy treasure-seekers into storms that can flay flesh in minutes. To the northwest, the Endless Ice Sea gradually dissolves into the Sea of Moving Ice—a treacherous archipelago of drifting bergs and frozen islands where ice mephits and white dragons claim dominion. It is a realm of isolation, desperation, and stark, brutal beauty.

Esmeltaran

Esmeltaran, nestled on the northern banks of Lake Esmel in central Amn, gleams as a cosmopolitan center of wealth, diplomacy, and leisure. Founded by King Esmel Torlath I, the city was envisioned as a place where trade and elegance could flourish side by side—and it has delivered. Its palatial villas, sprawling markets, and domed bathhouses line broad boulevards that overlook the tranquil lake, whose geothermal-fed hot springs lend the city a constant air of luxurious ease. Merchants, diplomats, and nobles gather here, drawn by its neutral standing amidst Amnian rivalries and its reputation for hospitality. The river-fed lake teems with fish, making Esmeltaran a seafood haven, and the local wineries and floral gardens give rise to some of the most prized perfumes and vintages in the realm. Despite growing political tensions in Amn, the city remains a symbol of civility and cultured affluence—at least on the surface.

Eveningstar

Eveningstar, a tranquil village nestled in northern Cormyr near the Starwater River, serves as both a pastoral haven and a quiet crossroads of significance. Located along the High Road between Arabel and Suzail, its fertile fields and welcoming inns make it a favored rest point for traders and adventurers alike. The village's prosperity stems from its agricultural bounty—mutton, poultry, root vegetables, and finely crafted goods like cheese, parchment, and wool—sold in its vibrant weekly market. Eveningstar also holds strategic importance, hosting a garrison of Purple Dragons and serving as a bulwark near the fringes of the King's Forest. The Lonesome Tankard, famed for its warmth and well-tapped kegs, draws locals and travelers into its fireside tales. Adventuring parties often pass through, lured by rumors of nearby ruins or the quiet dignity of a community that endures, protected by tradition and the ever-watchful eyes of Cormyr’s defenders.

Evereska

Evereska, hidden within the twelve guardian hills of the Shaeradim, is one of the last great elven enclaves in Faerûn, a sanctuary for the Tel’Quessir from the encroachment of other races. This reclusive valley, sculpted with otherworldly grace, is a masterpiece of elven architecture and nature intertwined—terraced groves of magically-shaped blueleaf trees stretch skyward, their silver-blue leaves catching the breeze under the protective veil of a mythal. The mythal is a sentient weave of arcane power that regulates weather, blocks planar travel, enhances elven abilities, and rains golden meteors upon invaders. Once nearly shattered during the devastating siege of the phaerimm, the city has been painstakingly rebuilt, its defenses stronger, its resolve fiercer. Forbidden to drow and largely closed to outsiders, Evereska endures as a bastion of ancient knowledge, quiet dignity, and unyielding preservation of elven heritage in a world that seems intent on forgetting it.

Fablerise

Fablerise, nestled in the dream-drenched glades of the Feywild, is no ordinary forest—it is a living stage for stories spun by Yarnspinner, the great fey spider whose web binds narrative and fate. Beneath its eternally dusky boughs, trees whisper sagas, and creatures once mundane speak with the eloquence of bards, each tale adding weight to the world’s fabric. Here, stories do not merely entertain—they reshape reality. The ground shifts with a character’s sorrow, the sky lightens with a hero’s triumph. Yarnspinner’s influence suffuses the forest, drawing awakened beasts and fey alike into its performative cycles. Fablerise thrives on the boundary between truth and invention, its paths warping with each retelling. For mortals, entry is a gamble: one might walk out a legend—or become just another tale spun in silk. Time coils erratically, and emotion births magic, reminding all who enter that in Fablerise, story is sovereign.

Faerûn

Faerûn, the sprawling centerpiece of Toril’s western hemisphere, is a land of boundless complexity and constant transformation. Stretching from the frigid Spine of the World to the sun-baked sands of Calimshan and Anauroch, it encompasses kingdoms steeped in ancient lore, lawless frontiers, and city-states pulsing with arcane energy. Magic courses through its veins—wild and regulated, divine and arcane—infusing every aspect of life, while gods walk its lands in avatars, their clergy wielding power equal to kings. The continent is home to humans, elves, dwarves, and myriad other peoples, each with their own territories, cultures, and ambitions. Beneath its surface, ancient evils stir in the Underdark, while above, dragons, demons, and scheming empires vie for dominance. Every forest holds a secret, every ruin a tale, and every tavern a call to adventure. Faerûn is not merely a setting—it is the living stage of high fantasy's grandest epics.

Faerûn (North)

Farsea Swamp

The Farsea Swamp—also known as the Farsea Marshes—is a vast and disease-ridden expanse of wetlands in the western reaches of Cormyr’s frontier. Bordered by the Storm Horns to the east, the Sunset Mountains and Far Hills to the west, and what remains of the dry Tunlands to the south, the swamp sprawls across the lowland basin once home to a forgotten civilization predating Netheril. Formed in the wake of the Era of Upheaval by the merging of the original Farsea Marshes and the Marsh of Tun, the swamp now feeds the Tun River, which flows south into the Dragonmere. While shrouded in pestilence and mystery, the swamp has sustained a patchwork of hardy settlements and outlaws, as well as ancient secrets buried deep in its sodden depths. With few safe roads and fewer laws, it is a place where legends sleep and dangers fester—and only the desperate or the daring dare enter.

Farview

Fairview, a once-sleepy coastal village on Moray in the Moonshae Isles, has grown into a vibrant, industrious harbor thanks to the zealous influence of the Storm Maiden's Northlander devotees. Nestled west of the haunting Breasal Marsh and bordered by the Shannyth Forest’s dense, pine-scented expanse, the village has transformed into a vital shipwright’s enclave. Longships, their keels kissed by the Trackless Sea, are expertly crafted from the forest’s hardy timber—each vessel bearing the swirling motifs and storm-sigil carvings of Umberlee’s tempestuous clergy. The shipyard thrives beneath the open sky, where the sounds of construction and prayer interweave in daily rhythm. While the marshes whisper with danger and superstition, Fairview stands resilient—anchored in its faith, hardened by coastal gales, and bolstered by the promise of seaborne strength. It is a place where community, worship, and craft merge on the threshold between land and storm-tossed sea.

Fields of the Dead

The Fields of the Dead stretch across the heart of the Western Heartlands, an expansive swath of undulating grassland flanked by the Winding Water and River Chionthar, east of Baldur’s Gate. This somber plain earned its name from the countless battles once waged across its fertile soil, including clashes between Netherese outposts, Calishite warbands, and later, the armies of Baldur’s Gate and Elturel. Ancient burial mounds dot the landscape, some crowned with broken cairns or crumbled statues, while others remain untouched, their secrets buried beneath the earth. Mists cling to these barrows at dawn, whispering with ghostly echoes of the fallen. Though now primarily used for grazing and caravan routes, the land retains a potent sense of solemnity and latent power. Wanderers speak of spectral warriors that rise on certain moonlit nights, and relic hunters comb the fields in search of lost artifacts, tempting fate beneath the ever-watchful skies.

Fierna's Crystal Tower

Fierna's crystal tower rises like a jagged thorn from Avernus’s scorched surface, an opalescent spire shrouded in heat shimmer and encircled by sputtering magma pits. The structure, forged from razor-edged crystal infused with infernal power, pulses with a cruel beauty, each facet catching the hellfire’s glow in dazzling refraction. Blue flames perpetually crawl along its base, illuminating the cracked black stone around it. Inside, a burning spiral staircase coils upward through levels of forbidden ecstasy and torment—pleasure domes where mortal souls are ensnared in illusions of bliss before being cast into torment below. The tower's lowest depths are filled with prison cells, where chained captives writhe in endless agony, their suffering nourishing Fierna’s twisted pleasures. Guarded by erinyes and flame-hearted devils, the tower is a blasphemous blend of seduction and sadism, its very existence a reflection of Fierna’s capricious and destructive rule.

Fireshear

Fireshear, perched on the jagged cliffs of the Frozenfar's western edge, is a gritty, wind-lashed outpost forged by necessity and greed. Born from a violent upheaval—be it volcanic fury or falling star—the land cracked open to reveal rich veins of copper and silver, drawing prospectors and profit-seekers from across Faerûn. The city’s wooden structures cling precariously to the cliff face, connected by switchback ramps and lifts that lead down to a shallow, stone-ringed harbor. In winter, the bay ices over completely, isolating the town except by air or magic. A rare power-sharing agreement governs Fireshear, with merchant-princes from Mirabar, Neverwinter, and Waterdeep controlling the wealth and security. Their hired adventurers battle beasts, guard shipments, and probe deeper into the earth. The city hums with the clang of picks and the shouts of stevedores—an outpost where fortunes are made, danger is constant, and the land itself still seems to smolder beneath the frost.

Flint Rock

Flint Rock, nestled within the treacherous Evermoors of the Savage Frontier, stands as the ancestral mound of the Elk tribe, a sacred site of the Uthgardt barbarians. This concentric arrangement of hills cradles a central depression, its form mimicking a leaping elk, a testament to their revered totem. At its heart lies a massive, unmovable stone slab altar, ten feet by six, concealing a potent relic: a five-foot mithral spear tip, once imbued with divination magic. This hallowed ground, burial site for Elk chiefs and shamans, also serves as the stage for their annual Runemeet, a convergence of lawmaking, celebration, and solemn rites. Though darkened by a period of profane worship, the mound has been reclaimed, its holiness restored by the resurgent Elk tribe. The surrounding Silver Marches, a region often contested, and the broader Uthgardt Alliance, a bulwark against goblinoid threats, frame this place of primal power.

Flooded Forest

The Flooded Forest, wedged between the eastern edges of Cormanthor, the Dragon Reach, and the Earthspur Mountains, is a half-drowned remnant of ancient woodland transformed into a sunken morass. Once vibrant with life as part of the great forest that blanketed the region, it now stands eerily silent, with skeletal trees jutting from murky waters and moss-covered ruins hinting at lost civilizations beneath the surface. The forest teems with danger—black dragons, will-o’-wisps, and bands of lizardfolk prowl its submerged trails. Vine-choked paths lead to hidden barrows, ancient elf tombs, and the lairs of reclusive swamp sorcerers. Explorers must brave unstable ground, venomous creatures, and illusions cast by lingering Fey magic. The constant mist and fetid air obscure vision and muddle senses, making navigation treacherous. Despite its hazards, the Flooded Forest draws many with whispered promises of lost relics, forgotten knowledge, and secrets buried beneath the waterlogged soil.

Forest of Tethir

The Forest of Tethir, also called Wealdath, is one of Faerûn’s oldest and most storied woodlands, stretching across Tethyr’s western frontier. Its dense canopy of ancient oaks, shadowtops, and duskwoods shelters a rich ecosystem of beasts, fey, and remnants of elven civilization. The forest is named for Tethir, the legendary elf who slew the first dragon to threaten the wood, and his spirit is said to still guard its glades. Once home to powerful elven realms like Thearnytaar and Keltormir, the forest bears the ruins of their vanished cities, now watched over by the reclusive green elves of the Elmanesse and other secretive enclaves. Wealdath serves as both a cultural heart and a natural border, fiercely protected by the elves who view its trees as sacred. Travelers risk trespassing without permission, for the forest’s defenders value secrecy and tradition. Whispered stories tell of living trees, ghostly sentinels, and relics of the Crown Wars slumbering beneath the moss.

Forest of Wyrms

The Forest of Wyrms, nestled east of the Serpent Hills and bordered by the Wyrmbones and the Serpent River, is a shadowy expanse infamous for its namesake denizens—green dragons. Dense with ancient trees, choking undergrowth, and moss-veiled ruins, the forest radiates menace. Its tangled paths are haunted by the memories of the fallen, as tales of devoured adventurers and dragon-scorched clearings abound. Not merely home to draconic beasts, the forest teems with yuan-ti enclaves, hobgoblin warbands, and remnants of cultic activity tied to the Cult of the Dragon. Whispers speak of a long-slumbering great wyrm deep within, whose dreams warp the forest's fate. Hidden groves may yet hold relics of elven settlements or treasure hoards, but few who venture far return. Its peril is matched by the promise of riches and renown, luring dragon slayers, tomb raiders, and desperate seekers into its mist-wreathed heart.

Fort Morninglord

Fort Morninglord stands as a somber scar on the landscape of Elturgard, looming above the River Chionthar like a relic of dread. Once a proud bastion of the Order of the Companion, the fortress fell into infamy in 1476 DR, when every paladin within vanished overnight—no battle, no survivors, only a stone-sealed structure blackened by unknown forces. The High Observer declared it cursed, forbidding entry on pain of death. For over a decade, the keep lay untouched, sealed by divine and arcane rites. In 1489 DR, a new Elturian force established a perimeter camp, keeping watch over the hushed grounds. Rumors persist of faint cries from within, flickers of unnatural light, and strange dreams plaguing nearby patrols. Though the Companion’s light once graced this land, Fort Morninglord remains shrouded in spiritual malaise, an ever-present symbol of vanished righteousness and lurking damnation.

Frost Giant Hunting Lodge

This frost giant den, known among northern sailors as Glacienheim, lies buried within a grounded iceberg drifting at the southern edge of the Sea of Moving Ice. It is not a ruin nor cave in the traditional sense, but a sprawling warren of naturally hollowed ice tunnels and harshly-hewn chambers reinforced with frozen timber, whalebone, and stone hauled from the sea’s floor. The frost giants have transformed the interior into a formidable lodge of ice and violence—trophies of slain whales, white dragons, and rival giants hang frozen in alcoves, while great hearths belch steam from enchanted coals that refuse to melt the walls. A permanent chill clings to every surface; the slick, uneven floors are strewn with gnawed bones and frost-slick furs. Roars echo through the icy corridors as the giants feast, train, or sleep in shifts. Though inhospitable to most, the strong are sometimes welcomed—traders, envoys, or bold adventurers willing to offer tribute or survive a trial of strength.

Frozen Mire of Asmodean Grudges

The Frozen Mire of Asmodean Grudges festers in a cursed corner of Nessus, the ninth layer of the Nine Hells. A glacial expanse of blackened swamp and glistening permafrost, it serves as a prison for oathbreakers—mortals and devils alike who defied infernal pacts. Beneath a deceptively serene crust of ice lies a churning morass of sulfuric brine and corrupted souls. Muffled cries ripple through the fog as the damned slowly sink into the stinking mire, their half-frozen forms clawing upward in vain. Shattered bones and frostbitten limbs jut from the sludge like grotesque signposts, and glowing-eyed wraiths—echoes of broken contracts—drift endlessly, whispering curses. Ice devils mounted on skeletal, frost-wreathed nightmares patrol the paths of packed rime, their lances exuding blue fire. Here, betrayal earns more than death—it earns eternal stillness and slow suffocation beneath frozen muck, all under the cold and exacting gaze of Asmodeus’s eternal law.

Frozen Ruins of Nether

The Frozen Ruins of Nether, buried deep beneath the High Ice of northern Faerûn, are all that remain of a once-glorious enclave of the Netherese Empire. Shattered towers and crumbling arcane obelisks now lie entombed in glacial sheaths, their magic long dormant—but not dead. Invisible ley lines pulse faintly beneath the frost, whispering secrets to those who listen. The air crackles with ancient power, drawing both treasure hunters and desperate arcanists to risk the journey. Yet the ruins are not abandoned. Wraiths of long-dead Netherese mages roam the icy halls, guarding their sanctums and unfinished spells. Aberrant creatures, twisted by ancient experiments and cold-induced mutation, lurk in frost-shattered domes and broken summoning circles. Mythal remnants spark wild magic, and old contracts with outer beings still echo in frozen chambers. Here, amid the silence and snow, Nether watches—half-dead, half-sleeping—waiting to rise once more.

Gambiton

Gambiton is a quiet but well-frequented village tucked into the southern hills of Amn, where the Imnescourse Trail intersects the South Road. Though modest in size, the village holds strategic importance as a waystation for merchants, adventurers, and pilgrims en route to Esmeltaran or the northern trade routes. Its heart is marked by the twin establishments of the Gambitavern and the Gambitinn—friendly rivals that vie for coin with strong drink and soft beds. Southward lies the King’s Arch, a sweeping stone bridge of ancient Amnian design that spans the River Esmel, offering views of the shimmering Lake Esmel beyond. The lake’s shore, tranquil and often mist-veiled, conceals the Five Silvers: a circle of age-worn standing stones etched with forgotten runes. Locals speak of strange lights among them at dusk, and of travelers who leave offerings in hopes of good luck or cryptic visions. Gambiton endures not for glory, but for the roads it binds and the secrets it quietly shelters.

Gauntlgrym

Gauntlgrym is a legendary dwarven stronghold buried beneath the Spine of the World, its grandeur forged in stone and fire by the ancient Delzoun Empire. Once lost to time and monster-kind, it was reclaimed through blood and valor by King Bruenor Battlehammer and his allies, becoming a shining beacon of dwarven resilience. The city sprawls across immense caverns, its architecture a harmonious blend of engineering precision and sacred reverence. Towering stone halls resound with the hammering of forges fueled by the primordial Forgeheart, a magical core of lava that powers both smithies and spells. Temples to Moradin and his kin gods rise like mountains underground, echoing with deep hymns and sacred bellows. Beyond its artistry and industry, Gauntlgrym is also a bastion—its warriors ever-watchful for threats from the Underdark. In its echoing corridors and glowing avenues, the soul of ancient Delzoun lives on, reforged for a new age.

Giant's Plain

The Giant’s Plain stretches wide across the southern Heartlands, a sweeping vista of windblown grasslands, undulating hills, and weathered stone monoliths scattered like forgotten sentinels. Once known as Karlyn’s Vale, it was the site of a legendary dwarven victory over marauding giants during the early days of Delzoun’s decline. Great boulders and toppled menhirs, some inscribed with dwarven runes, are said to mark the places where giant chieftains fell. Yet the triumph was bittersweet. In later centuries, as human settlers expanded across the Heartlands, the dwarven descendants of those victors were driven out, their holdfasts razed or buried beneath human towns and farms. Now, the plain whispers of ancient glories and bitter loss. Travelers often speak of ghostly drums and stomping footsteps echoing on moonlit nights, as if the old war plays on beneath the soil. It remains a place of beauty and sorrow—sacred to dwarves, but claimed by history’s cruelty.

Giant's Run Mountains

The Giant’s Run Mountains thrust skyward west of the Vilhon Reach, their jagged peaks casting long shadows over the Shining Plains below. Steep, forbidding, and perpetually wreathed in cloud near their summits, these mountains once harbored thriving gold dwarf strongholds—rich citadels carved into the stone, now largely abandoned or lost to time. Veins of precious ore still run through their bones, drawing prospectors and treasure-seekers, though many vanish amid the narrow passes and unstable tunnels. Whispers speak of ancient dwarven tombs sealed behind rune-locked doors, and of forgotten vaults filled with relics of the Deep Realms. Tribes of monsters—goblins, manticores, and worse—now claim the slopes, but the deepest caverns remain unnaturally quiet, as though waiting. Echoes of hammer strikes and chants of Moradin sometimes drift through the stone winds, hinting that the mountains remember their golden age—and may yet call their children home.

Glasya's Citadel

Glasya’s Citadel rises like a cruel monolith from the warped slopes of Malbolge, the Sixth Layer of the Nine Hells. Since the plane's reversion to a mountainous wasteland of crumbling cliffs and bottomless chasms, Glasya—archduchess and daughter of Asmodeus—has built her palace atop a jagged rise overlooking the suffering below. The citadel’s spires defy mortal architecture: thin, leaning towers braced by seemingly precarious buttresses and impossible arches, as if the structure mocks collapse. But its chaos is intentional—each trembling stone held aloft by infernal will and cruel precision. Beneath this grim fortress lies an immense labyrinthine prison, where cells twist into oubliettes and corridors lead only to torment. Here, Glasya enacts her unique vision of law: veiled in beauty, enforced through manipulation, and soaked in sadistic control. The air reeks of perfumed rot, and the cries of the damned echo like music through her corridors of pain and power.

Glimmersea

The Glimmersea sprawls beneath Faerûn’s crust, a vast subterranean ocean deep within the Underdark. Its still, black waters stretch for untold miles, interrupted only by jagged stalagmite isles, fungal cliffs, and the half-submerged ruins of long-forgotten civilizations. Unlike surface seas, the Glimmersea glows—its waves illuminated by bioluminescent algae, drifting spores, and strange lifeforms that pulse with ghostly light. Traders, drow, illithids, and kuo-toa sail its depths in eerily silent vessels, navigating by shimmer rather than starlight. The air here is cold and moist, filled with the mineral tang of stone and the soft, unsettling chorus of unseen life. Whispers drift on the air—not always illusion—echoing ancient pacts, half-buried horrors, and minds reaching across the dark. Below the surface, things older than the gods stir. The Glimmersea is not merely a passage—it is a realm, alive with alien beauty and deathless dread.

Gnarhelm

Gnarhelm stands as a rugged jewel along the windswept shores of the northern Sea of Swords, its bustling port chiseled into a rocky coastline and forever echoing with the clang of hammers and the calls of merchants. Rich in veins of copper, silver, iron, and gold, the city thrives on mineral exports, forging alliances and securing necessities through constant trade. Its soil is thin and stony, unsuited for agriculture, and thus Gnarhelm leans heavily on its maritime routes to feed its population and fuel its growth. Though its navy is modest by Northlander standards, Gnarhelm boasts one of the strongest land-based forces in the region, fielding disciplined cavalry units that range far beyond the city’s granite walls to patrol trade roads and borderlands. The city is known for its practical architecture—fortified stone keeps, ore-laden warehouses, and smoke-belching forges—symbolizing a culture shaped by endurance, trade, and the rhythm of hooves and hammers.

God Street

God Street is no ordinary thoroughfare—it is a metaphysical avenue woven into the planes where ambition and belief collide, a place where the dreams of dominion take form in stone and shadow. Towering spires and warped cathedrals line its curving length, each structure shaped by the ethos and vanity of the deity or demigod who claims it. This is sacred ground for lawful evil powers—new gods clawing for recognition, old ones fighting obsolescence. The very stones hum with oathbound magic, the air heavy with incense, whispered prayers, and the iron taste of cosmic contracts. Petitioners, acolytes, and planar agents tread carefully here, for a single word can seal a fate, and a glance can start a holy war. Gods rise and fall in silent rituals or devastating displays, their influence reshaping the realm’s structure as dogma calcifies into reality. To walk God Street is to witness divine ambition raw and unfiltered, sharpened into doctrine and etched into the soul of the multiverse.

Grandfather Tree

Deep within the heart of the High Forest, the Grandfather Tree towers as a living monument to the primal powers of nature and ancient elven sorcery. This colossal arakhor, summoned by the Aryvandaar elves in ages past, now serves as both guardian and symbol of unity for the disparate peoples who venerate the wild. Its immense roots cradle the sacred Hall of Mists beneath its canopy, a place whispered to be older than memory itself. The Tree Ghost and Blue Bear Uthgardt tribes revere the Grandfather Tree as an ancestral mound, its surrounding terrain marked with rotted stumps, standing totems, and ceremonial stones. Druids, satyrs, wood elves, and nature's champions gather here beneath the watchful grace of Eldath, Mielikki, Silvanus, and Rillifane Rallathil. The tree bears the scar of a mysterious fire from 890 DR, all but one low branch consumed—a branch now kept as a relic by the Blue Bear shaman.

Great Bhaerynden

Great Bhaerynden is an immense, ancient cavern realm in the Underdark beneath southern Faerûn, once home to the mighty dwarven empire of Bhaerynden. Its fall millennia ago gave way to the rise of the drow city of Telantiwar—until that, too, collapsed in ruin, spawning new rivalries and reshaping the dark dominion. Today, Great Bhaerynden is a haunted span of shadowed vaults, sprawling drow enclaves, and silent ruins veiled in gloom. Black-stone citadels cling to massive stalactites and cavern walls, linked by webs, rope bridges, and arcane gates. The scent of ancient sorcery hangs heavy in the air, mingled with cold damp and the skitter of lurking predators. Forgotten empires whisper from broken statues and sunken halls, where treacherous alliances and quiet wars shape the lives of its current denizens. Here, power is hidden in every corner, and danger waits behind every stalagmite. Great Bhaerynden is no mere cave—it is a crucible of ambition, mystery, and betrayal.

Grenpoli, the City of Diplomacy

Grenpoli, nestled within a massive obsidian dome on the infernal plains of Maladomini, stands as the Nine Hells’ capital of cunning. Unlike the brutal realms around it, Grenpoli enforces a strict prohibition on weapons and overt violence within its borders, creating a rare sanctuary where devils, fiends, and the occasional mortal diplomat settle disputes through debate, manipulation, and veiled threats. At its heart lies the Political School of the Nine Hells, a towering academy of corruption where ambitious devils are rigorously trained in rhetoric, deception, legalism, and betrayal. Infernal contracts are drafted here with masterful care, and the highest currency is influence. The city teems with whispers and watching eyes; every conversation is layered, every smile calculated. While no blades are drawn, ruin and damnation unfold daily through well-placed clauses and social sabotage. Grenpoli thrives on subtlety, teaching that the sharpest knife is always the one you never see.

Greycloak Hills

The Greycloak Hills, once called the Tomb Hills, roll across western Faerûn like a sea of quiet green waves, veiled perpetually in silvery mist. This region, steeped in ancient memory, is riddled with forgotten barrows and crypts from the time of the Fallen Kingdom—human kings and elven warriors alike interred beneath the tall, grass-covered ridges and weathered stone cairns. Now home to a community of moon elves from Evereska, the hills have transformed into a mystical refuge. The Evereskans have woven protective magic into the land, enshrouding the region in ethereal mist that both conceals and safeguards. This magic, combined with the locals’ tradition of wearing muted gray garb, lent the hills their current name. Sparse copses of trees dot the high slopes, while ruined tombs blend into the landscape, their secrets guarded by illusion, enchantment, and reverent silence. The Greycloak Hills are a place of remembrance, quiet wonder, and enduring harmony.

Greypeak Mountains

The Greypeak Mountains claw across the Savage Frontier like jagged stone fingers, their snow-dusted peaks and sheer cliffs forming one of the most inhospitable ranges in northern Faerûn. Treacherous passes wind through wind-scoured valleys and high ridges, where landslides and sudden storms are as deadly as the creatures that haunt the range. The mountains are home to reclusive gray-skinned stone giants who dwell in towering halls carved into cliff faces, living in uneasy isolation from the monstrous humanoids, trolls, and ogres that prowl the lower slopes. Deep beneath the peaks lie the crumbling ruins of Ammarindar, a once-proud dwarven kingdom shattered by demonic incursion during the fall of Hellgate Keep. Now, twisted remnants of that infernal conflict fester in shadowed tunnels and broken vaults. Aberrant creatures and fell magics still seep through the wounds left in the Underdark. The Greypeaks are a forbidding realm.

Gulthmere Forest

Gulthmere Forest sprawls across the Vilhon Reach in a sweeping expanse of pine and cedar, its warm, mist-laced groves shrouded in mystery and sacred power. Flanked by the Orsraun Mountains and hill-strewn countryside, this subtropical woodland is both sanctuary and crucible—revered by druids of Silvanus, Eldath, and Chauntea, and feared by outsiders who trespass without reverence. The heart of regional druidic influence, Gulthmere pulses with primal energy, guarded by sentient treants, territorial beast tribes, and beasts twisted by fey and elemental magic. Its boughs conceal glimmering veins of rubies and topaz, tempting prospectors into its depths, few of whom return unchanged. Ancient portals, disguised as root-wrapped hollows or moss-cloaked cairns, open to forgotten ruins and planar realms, reinforcing Gulthmere’s mythic stature. At its center lies Cedarsproke, a druidic city built into living trees, untouched by war and maintained through ancient pacts rather than stone & steel.

Gundarlun

Gundarlun is a cold, wind-swept island in the northern reaches of the Trackless Sea, known for its rugged terrain, long winters, and brief, cool summers. Shrouded often in dense sea mist and buffeted by frigid storms, the island is a stark land of jagged cliffs, pine-covered highlands, and deep, glacially-fed lakes. Though sparsely populated, its hardy folk are skilled seafarers and fishers, adapted to a life hemmed by ice and wave. Sea ice frequently encircles Gundarlun’s coasts, choking its harbors and making trade a seasonal gamble. Waterfalls tumble from frozen ridges into quiet fjords, drawing the attention of Arveiaturace, the ancient white dragon known as the "White Wyrm of Icewind Dale," who sometimes circles the island’s inland waters in her lonely flights. Her presence deters most would-be settlers and raiders alike. Gundarlun is a land caught between ice and storm, stoicism and solitude—a cold cradle for tales of survival and sea-bound hardship.

Gundbarg

Gundbarg, the "Gateway Port" of Gundarlun, thrusts from the Trackless Sea like a weathered fist, a vital haven for seafaring souls. Its bustling docks teem with ships, laden with commodities from across the realms, while the air hums with the clang of repairs and the shouts of merchants. Fishing boats jostle alongside whaling vessels, their decks slick with the day's catch, fueling the city's robust economy. Fields and mines inland supplement the trade, ensuring Gundbarg's self-sufficiency. King Olger Redaxe, with his 300 strong warriors, maintains order from his stone keep, their presence felt in the city's well-defended walls. The legendary Dragon Turtle Inn, a haven for adventurers and information brokers, pulsates with life, its tales as salty as the sea air. This strategic port, a crossroads of trade and adventure, offers respite and opportunity to those brave enough to navigate the Trackless Sea.

Gwynneth

Gwynneth, the Moonshae Isles' grandest southern isle, presents a tapestry of stark contrasts. Verdant lowlands, home to the Ffolk, give way to the rugged northern territories claimed by the Northlanders. At its heart lies Lake Myrloch, concealing a mystical city capable of ephemeral journeys to the Feywild. Myrloch Vale, a druidic haven on the lake's eastern shores, cradles a potent Moon Well, while the shadowed Winterglen, a castle ruled by the exiled hag Urphania, straddles the planes of Faerûn, the Feywild, and the Shadowfell. Ruins of Caer Corwell, once the proud seat of House Kendrick, stand as a testament to the island's turbulent past. The isle bears the scars of Kazgoroth's dark influence, as chronicled in ancient tales, and marks the arrival of the Talfir, led by Taylor Gwynneth, who established the first human settlement in 140 DR. This land, a blend of natural beauty and arcane mystery, holds secrets whispered on the wind and etched in the weathered stones.

Hag Countess's Stronghold

The Hag Countess’s Stronghold, a grotesque fortress of stone and sinew, was the seat of power for Malagard, the former ruler of Malbolge, the Sixth Layer of the Nine Hells. Embedded into a colossal, mountain-sized boulder, the citadel defies natural order as it eternally tumbles down Malbolge’s cragged terrain—never stopping, yet never tearing apart, propelled by arcane will and infernal law. Within its shifting, gravity-defying halls, Malagard ruled with wicked cunning, her voice carried by foul winds to the coven of night hags that now reside in her wake. Souls are trafficked here like coin, traded or bartered in veiled rituals or grotesque auctions. Twisting corridors pulse with infernal magic, leading to oubliettes, scrying dens, and soul-forging chambers. Though Malagard herself was destroyed, her essence lingers, and the fortress remains a place of dark influence—half marketplace, half coven-warren—where fate and torment are sold with a whisper.

Hair Forest, Forest of Sighs

The Hair Forest—grimly called the Forest of Sighs—sprawls across a bleak expanse of Malbolge, a macabre remnant of the Hag Countess Malagard. Its trees are not wood, but impossibly long, thick strands of her withered black hair, each one anchored deep in a bed of ghost-pale soil. The hairs sway and twist of their own accord, brushing against intruders like probing tendrils, whispering with the voices of damned souls ensnared within their fibrous lengths. Since ascending to rule Malbolge, Glasya has repurposed this grotesque forest as a vault and oubliette—concealing her most damning secrets, infernal treasures, and hopeless prisoners in hidden pockets scattered across the tangle. The forest is a maze of despair, where no wind blows, and time seems to unravel. Disembodied sighs drift on stagnant air, and every path feels like it has been walked a thousand times before. To wander the Hair Forest is to feel watched, remembered, and ultimately forgotten.

Hardbuckler

Nestled along the Dusk Road in the Western Heartlands, Hardbuckler is a bustling, if compact, town of rock gnomes, a bastion of cleanliness and prosperity. Stone cottages, each with a fenced garden and multi-level cellar, dot the landscape in an organized disarray, concealing a sprawling network of underground tunnels and vaults secured by powerful wards, a legacy of the wizard Aldiber Inchtawurn. These subterranean passages, wide enough for wagons, connect the cellars, facilitating swift, hidden travel. The town, ruled by a council of gnome elders, many of whom are priests, reflects a deep reverence for gnomish deities. Notable for its stout fortifications, Hardbuckler endured a fierce battle during the Second Dragon Cataclysm, a testament to its resilience. This industrious community, situated between Triel and Hill's Edge, boasts hand-cranked elevators within its cellars, a testament to gnomish ingenuity.

Hartsvale

Nestled within the frigid embrace of the Ice Spires, Hartsvale presents a surprisingly fertile valley, a haven amidst the harsh north of Faerûn. Low, rolling hills and dense pine forests give way to frozen plains, all bisected by the Clear Whirl River and its winding tributaries, which feed into serene southern lakes. Ancient menhirs, remnants of giantish influence, mark the boundaries between human settlements and the territories of the giants who still roam the surrounding mountains and woods. Ruled by House Hartwick from Castle Hartwick's Alabaster Throne, the kingdom maintains a tenuous peace with its giant neighbors, a legacy tracing back to the legendary Hartkiller, who united the human tribes against the giants of old Ostoria. Villages like Stagwick dot the landscape, and figures such as Tavis Burdun and Avner, the Seraph of Thieves, hail from this remote realm.

Heapside

Once synonymous with the entire Lower City, Heapside is a weathered but resilient subdistrict nestled between the Old Wall, the Steeps, and Eastway. A former middle-class enclave, it now bears the scars of Baldur’s Gate’s evolution—its cobbled lanes echoing the cries of past revolts, most notably the Tax Riots that divided the city into “Upper” and “Lower.” Today, Heapside is a working-class quarter clinging to modest respectability. Its rows of leaning tenements, cluttered shopfronts, and trade stalls draw craftsmen, dock laborers, and vendors catering to the bustling needs of the Lower City. Though no longer the city’s safest haven, it retains an air of weary vigilance, with neighbors watching each other's backs amid the press of growing crime and Flaming Fist patrols. Beneath its streets, the infamous Heapside Prison festers in the Undercity—a dim symbol of authority’s tightening grip.

Heart of Neverwinter

The Heart of Neverwinter, nestled in the city’s southwestern quarter, serves as the civic and cultural soul of the Jewel of the North. Dominated by the gleaming Hall of Justice—an imposing structure of white stone and blue-tiled domes dedicated to Tyr—this district radiates a sense of order and dignity. Tree-lined avenues weave through manicured parks and flower-ringed fountains, where citizens stroll beneath the watchful eyes of the city guard. Marketplaces brim with finely crafted goods, imported luxuries, and regional produce, all under the careful regulation of guilds and magistrates. While much of Neverwinter still bears the scars of past conflicts and the eruption of Mount Hotenow, the Heart stands as a testament to rebirth and resilience. Home to civic leaders, wealthy merchants, and devout followers of Tyr and Oghma, the district pulses with lawful energy. Its guarded streets and elegant facades make it the safest and most stable district—where law, faith, and coin converge.

Hellgate Dell

Hellgate Dell stands like a wound in the land, a chaotic mound of scorched stone, fused metal, and shattered masonry hurled outward during the apocalyptic destruction of Hellgate Keep in 1369 DR. Rising nearly 70 feet, this unnatural hill is steeped in residual fiendish energy, pulsing faintly with the echoes of the infernal catastrophe that birthed it. Twisted beams, half-melted pillars, and scorched domes jut from the rubble like broken bones, remnants of the once-mighty fortress that dominated the High Forest's fringes. Strange, black-veined flora—seemingly part fungus, part curse—sprout from the tainted soil, writhing when touched by moonlight or song. The air smells of ash and ozone, and faint, mournful whispers drift through the crevices at night. While some view Hellgate Dell as simply the grave of Hellgate Keep, others suspect it remains tethered to some vestige of the Abyss. Occultists, fools, and fiends alike are drawn to it still, seeking whatever power stirs within.

Helm's Hold

Helm’s Hold looms southeast of Neverwinter, a grim bastion of order and zeal amidst the northern wilds. Once a sanctuary for the sick and the mad, it now serves as the fortified seat of the Gilded Eye, a militant splinter of the Order of the Gauntlet. Its towering gray walls and austere towers offer no comfort—only vigilance. The Order’s knights and inquisitors prowl the streets and cloisters, eyes sharp for signs of infernal corruption, their fervor often straying into fanaticism. Within the compound, a rigid monastery hums with whispered prayers, disciplined drills, and the scent of burnt incense. Yet life persists under their shadow: a bustling marketplace operates under strict watch, and the Old Dirty Dwarf tavern offers hard drink and hushed rebellion to those brave—or desperate—enough to speak freely. Lodgings are sparse and Spartan, their walls thin but watched. Helm’s Hold offers refuge from chaos, but only for those willing to bow to the Eye’s unwavering, unblinking gaze.

Highstar Lake

Highstar Lake—known as Dauerimlakh to dwarves and Evendim to the elves—is a haunting, mirror-surfaced lake nestled in the granite and marble bowl of the northeastern High Moor, west of Mount Hlim. Sometimes called Evendusk Lake or the Mirror of the Moor, it is shrouded in both natural beauty and otherworldly mystery. Draining westward into the Hark River, a tributary of the River Shining, the lake serves as both a vital water source and a locus of ancient legend. It lies near the ruins of Miyeritaran towers and the now-abandoned dwarfhold known as the Halls of the Hammer. Despite its serene surface, Highstar has long been linked to strange disappearances, ghostly returns, and rumors of a sentient, perhaps extraplanar, presence in its depths. Tales tell of men who vanish only to return days later with ancient elven coins—and of infants left at its shores, seemingly gifted by the lake itself. These stories mark Highstar not merely as a landmark, but as a sacred, eldritch threshold.

Hillfort Ishla

Hillfort Ishla, nestled in the eastern reaches of the Small Teeth mountains, serves as a southern bulwark for Amn’s Council Army—at least in name. Once a vital link in the defensive chain protecting the trade-rich lowlands between Gambiton and Esmeltaran, the fort now languishes under the apathetic and self-serving command of Captain Amlos Xomnag. Built from mud-sealed pine logs and situated on often waterlogged ground, the fort demands constant maintenance, which it rarely receives. Its outer palisades lean under the weight of rot and disrepair, while overgrown gardens and weed-choked paths speak to neglect. Though designed to support a sizable garrison with armory, stables, and blacksmith, its true function has shifted: a tool for the captain’s personal enrichment. Soldiers run errands for wealthy Esmeltaran merchants rather than patrols, and dissenters vanish or are quietly reassigned.

Hillfort Torbold

Hillfort Torbold, a crucial southern fortification of Amn nestled within the central Tejarn Hills, stands as part of a defensive chain built upon the remnants of an ancient, pre-Shoon network. Constructed from practical log and mud structures that demand ongoing upkeep, the fort is a self-sufficient outpost capable of housing a substantial garrison. Within its walls, one can find lodgings, an armory, a combined blacksmith and stables, the services of a herbalist and tailor, general supply shops, a sizable garden, and the welcoming Bruder's Waystop inn, alongside the Hall of the Guardians, a temple dedicated to Helm. Strategically positioned at the junction of the South Road and the locally constructed Olehm Passage leading south to the Tethir Road, Hillfort Torbold serves as a frequent stopping point for travelers moving between Amn and Tethyr, its well-trained garrison ensuring a degree of security in the region.

Hillsfar

Hillsfar, a walled city-state gracing the Moonsea's southern curve, presents a stern facade of gray stone and tightly packed buildings. Its bustling docks teem with trade vessels, a testament to its pivotal role as a regional hub, despite the city's grim reputation. Within its gates, a palpable tension hangs in the air, a byproduct of the harsh laws that exclude all nonhuman races. The city's markets, though vibrant, echo with the clipped tones of human merchants, their eyes wary. Towering over the urban sprawl, the Red Plume's citadel stands as a stark reminder of Hillsfar's iron-fisted rule, a place where prejudice and commerce intertwine. The cobblestone streets, often slick with dampness from the sea air, wind through the city, leading to various inns and merchant houses, each a potential source of information or intrigue. The city's harbor is often filled with ships from across the Moonsea, making it a critical, though dangerous, location.

Hlondeth

Hlondeth, the City of Serpents, sprawls at the Vilhon Reach's end, a spectacle of green marble structures adorned with serpentine motifs. Ruled by the enigmatic Extaminos family, whose lineage whispers of non-human blood, this independent city thrives on bustling trade, its markets overflowing with goods from distant lands. Tensions simmer with neighboring Sespech, a feud fueled by politics and blood. Its streets, illuminated by magical lights at night, wind past ornate fountains and well-maintained sewers, revealing a city of both beauty and hidden depths. The Scaled Halls of Varac, a forgotten temple beneath the city, hints at ancient mysteries, while a Thayan Enclave marks the presence of foreign diplomats. Despite its serpentine reputation, stemming from yuan-ti influences and architectural echoes, Hlondeth maintains vigilant city patrols and a generally welcoming air to most races.

Hullack Forest

Hullack Forest sprawls across the eastern reaches of Cormyr, pressing up against the Dalelands with dense, brooding boughs and a reputation steeped in peril. Once part of the grand expanse of ancient Cormanthor, this dark woodland remains largely untouched, its twisting valleys and thorn-choked paths thick with primeval magic and deadly creatures. Named for Hullack, a druid of Eldath who sought to protect its sacred groves, the forest has since grown wild and vengeful. Green dragons nest in secluded hollows, chimerae prowl the ravines, and venomous beasts lurk behind curtains of vine and moss. At its cursed heart rise the Wyvernstones of Hullack, a once-holy Eldathyn circle now defiled by the Bloodmoon Circle—a brutal sect of Malarite lycanthropes who revel in the hunt and mark the stones with blood rites. Cormyrean wardens, unwilling to cede the forest’s fate, quietly test bold adventurers here. Those who survive may earn glory—or become prey to the feral gods of the wood.

Ice Spires

The frigid Ice Spires, a jagged mountain range in Faerûn's far north, pierce the sky with icy peaks, a realm of biting winds and treacherous fairy ice. Here, north of the Silver Marches and the Endless Ice Sea, and northwest of Anauroch, giants and their kin—frost, fire, hill, and ogre—dominate the landscape. Hartsvale, a secluded human kingdom, clings to a valley within these spires, hemmed in by the mountains, the icy sea, and the Anauroch desert's edge, divided into the High Duchies, Cold Marches, Cuthbert Fief, Baronies of Wind, and Lake Fiefs. Note that Icespire Peak, a dwarven stronghold in the Sword Mountains, and the Great Spire of the Ice Sea, an island structure in Yal Tengri, are distinct from this northern range.

Icewind Dale

Icewind Dale, the northernmost explored region of Faerûn, is a harsh arctic tundra defined by relentless, icy winds and long, frigid nights. This unforgiving land, nestled south of the Trackless Sea and north of the Spine of the World, is home to the hardy Ten Towns, a confederation of settlements clinging to survival. Beyond these towns, dangerous beasts like yetis, white dragons, and remorhazes roam, alongside scavenging gnolls and ice trolls. The region’s geography features mineral-rich lakes like Maer Dualdon, Lac Dinneshere, and Redwaters, and towering peaks like Kelvin's Cairn. Trade centers on knucklehead trout fishing, scrimshaw, and whale oil, with chardalyn, a magic-absorbing mineral, being a unique natural resource. Icewind Dale’s history is marked by conflict and malign influences, from ancient frost giant kingdoms to demonic invasions. Inhabitants endure the extreme climate, traversing the dale by dogsled or axe beak.

Iliyanbruen

Iliyanbruen, a spectral fragment of ancient Illefarn, exists within the Feywild's twilight embrace, a testament to elven resilience. Silverwood forests and crystal rivers, imbued with mournful beauty, reflect centuries of struggle against native fey. The city, a fortified echo of lost glory, hums with defensive magic, the air thick with ancient arcane scents. Time warps and distances shift unpredictably, mirroring the Feywild's erratic nature. This elven enclave, transplanted after Toril's near-destruction, stands as a somber fortress against the plane's capricious inhabitants. The eladrin, perceived as invaders, have adapted, their magic honed for survival in this realm of amplified arcane power. Amidst the Feywild's heightened sensations and ever-shifting landscapes, Iliyanbruen represents a point of somber, steadfast endurance, a place where past sorrow fuels present strength.

Imnescar

Imnescar, a vital agricultural hub nestled in southwest Amn, serves as a key waystation along the bustling Trade Way, renowned for its abundant orchards and vineyards producing a wide array of fruits such as oranges, tangerines, grapes, dates, and avocados. Situated near the Small Teeth mountains, where the Imnestream river originates, the town marks the beginning of the Imnescourse Trail, a significant roadway traversing central Amn. While detailed accounts of its inhabitants are scarce, Imnescar's strategic location and agricultural prosperity have long made it an important center, even playing a role in historical events like Prince Imnel Torlath's battles against ogres in the Small Teeth, which helped secure trade routes centuries ago.

Impresk Lake

Impresk Lake lies at the heart of the barony of Impresk in the land of Erlkazar, nestled between the wind-swept Shining Plains and the snow-fed slopes of the mighty Snowflake Mountains. Fed by numerous rivers and alpine streams, its waters are cold, clear, and deep—famed for their pristine beauty and biting chill even in summer months. The lake serves as a vital geographic and economic artery for the region, draining into the Deepwash via the short but swift Shalane River. The town of Carradoon, perched on a southern peninsula, is its most prominent settlement—known both for its scenic vistas and as the birthplace of Cadderly Bonaduce, priest of Deneir and hero of the Time of Troubles. The lake’s cold waters teem with fish and are occasionally shrouded in thick morning fog, lending it a reputation for quiet, solemn mystery. Though tranquil on the surface, its proximity to ancient ruins and the untamed heights of the Snowflake Mountains invites the unexpected.

Iriaebor

Iriaebor, the City of a Thousand Spires, sprawls across the Tor, a high ridge overlooking the northern Chionthar. This densely populated city-state, though nominally within Elturgard's sphere, remains fiercely independent. Stone towers, linked by countless bridges and overhanging balconies, pierce the skyline, casting long shadows across the narrow, bustling streets below. While economically potent, Iriaebor's potential is often stifled by internal conflicts and petty rivalries among its inhabitants. The city's architecture, a labyrinth of stone and soaring spires, creates a visually striking, yet often shadowed, urban landscape.

Iron Keep

Iron Keep, perched upon the craggy shores of Oman's Isle, stands as a testament to both Ffolk resilience and dwarven might. Its stout stone walls, blackened by sea spray and the smoke of countless forges, rise from the remnants of an ancient Ffolk stronghold, now repurposed and fortified by Thelgaar Ironhand's clan. Within, the clang of hammers and the roar of bellows echo through the halls, a constant reminder of the dwarven industry that dominates the keep. Armored figures, both dwarf and human, patrol the ramparts, their gaze fixed upon the turbulent sea and the shadowed forests that cloak the island's interior. Stacks of iron ingots and weapons line the courtyards, a grim promise of the keep's readiness for any threat. The air is thick with the scent of coal, metal, and salt, a stark contrast to the wild beauty of the surrounding isles. A lone, wind-battered watchtower, its stone worn smooth by time.

Ironmaster

Nestled within the frigid embrace of the Frozenfar, Ironmaster, a stalwart dwarven city, clings to the rocky walls of Ironmaster Vale, where the Shaengarne River meets the Sea of Moving Ice. The valley, guarded by imposing stone menhirs etched with the city's emblem—a red anvil on a gray diamond—stands as a stark barrier to non-dwarves. Within, the city hums with the relentless rhythm of mining, its forges churning out seemingly endless iron and, more impressively, adamantine weaponry and armor crafted from Tuern's rare ore. A generation-long war with the duergar of Deepkingdom has hardened its defenses, and the city maintains a staunch isolation, relying on traders for external needs. Entry into the vale is fiercely contested, with patrols swiftly dispatching any who dare trespass past the clearly marked boundaries bearing the anvil and diamond sigil.

Jangling Hiter

Jangling Hiter, the City of Chains, clings to existence between the torments of Dis and the seething wastelands of Avernus. Suspended by an impossibly intricate web of rusted iron chains, the entire city dangles above a churning mire of brimstone and ash, creaking and swaying in an endless symphony of metallic groans. Home to the kytons—chain devils born of torment and artistry—Jangling Hiter thrives on tension, literally and figuratively. Buildings here are forged from interlinked chains, some taut and rigid, others swaying like pendulums, creating shifting corridors and vertigo-inducing vistas. Every movement sets off a chorus of clanks, scrapes, and eerie howls, creating a soundscape of agony and order. Kytons glide across the structure like dancers in a deathly ballet, utterly at home in this gravity-defying prison. It is a place of eerie elegance and unrelenting cruelty, where every link serves both as support and as shackle. To fall from Jangling Hiter is to vanish into Avernus.

Jealous Heart

Inanna's realm, Jealous Heart, within Phlegethos, is a paradox of beauty and brutality. Crimson dust plains, a morbidly fertile ground, stretch endlessly, nourished by rivers of blood. Sweet fruit trees, laden with tempting produce, offer a deceptive tranquility. Though lacking the searing heat of other Phlegethos regions, Jealous Heart ignites a different kind of fire: an intense, all-consuming passion. The air crackles with the fervor of both battle and intimacy, a potent blend that stirs the soul. Serene orchards meet the macabre flow of sanguine rivers. This realm, once adjacent to Hecate's domain, pulses with a raw, visceral energy, a testament to Inanna's complex nature. The dust itself seems to whisper tales of love and war, a constant reminder of the intertwined passions that define this divine space. It is a place of stark contrasts, where the sweetness of fruit masks the underlying savagery, and the beauty of the landscape conceals the burning intensity within.

Jovar, the Glittering Heaven

Jovar, the Glittering Heaven or Heaven of Gems, the sixth layer of Mount Celestia, is a realm of dazzling beauty and celestial guardianship. Its hills are studded with precious gemstones, their facets reflecting the light in a dazzling display. The Heavenly City, Yesteria, a huge seven-layered ziggurat, dominates the landscape, its terraces reaching towards the sky. The city is built of precious gemstones, its walls shimmering with light. The bridge of al-Sihal, formed of pure light, spans the topmost terrace, guarded by the powerful solar Xerona, who judges those worthy to enter Chronias. The air is filled with the soft glow of gemstones and the distant harmonies of celestial choirs, creating an atmosphere of awe-inspiring beauty and divine vigilance. Jovar is a place of celestial splendor and unwavering guardianship, a gateway to the ultimate realm of lawful good.

Kalathtyr

Kalathtyr, a dismal speck at the mouth of the River Specie in southern Amn, festers quietly within the rarely charted Zehoarast Flood Plain. Hemmed in by mudflats and sluggish reed-choked waters, the village barely rises above the mire on stilts and sodden planks. Twenty or so hardscrabble families make their living from netting riverfish and gathering swamp herbs, though most days see more blood lost to stingflies and bite-gnats than coin gained from trade. The air hangs thick with mugginess, and the thatched roofs of Kalathtyr’s warped huts sag under the constant moisture, streaked black and green with mold. There are no inns, no temples, and no real roads—only rutted trails and leaky punts to navigate the surrounding wetlands. Outsiders are rare & unwelcome, greeted with wary eyes and muttered curses. A place forgotten by most of Amn, Kalathtyr endures through stubbornness alone, its people bound to the marshes like roots in the muck, thriving in decay where few others dare linger.

Kingdom of Callidyrr

Callidyrr, heart of the Ffolk kingdom on Alaron in the Moonshae Isles, embodies both resilience and splendor. Spanning the southern and central stretches of the isle, its lands sweep from the rugged Fairheight Range to the fertile plains of Bregonshire, and from the sacred glades of the Dernall Forest to the wind-lashed cliffs of the southern coast. Divided into four counties, each reflects the varied soul of the Moonshaes—rural, mystical, and fiercely proud. At its core lies Caer Callidyrr, a coastal capital alive with music, merchant ships, and the clang of the High King's banners. It was here that High King Tristan Kendrick, bard and warrior, stood against the dark forces of a Banite cult, defending not only his throne but the spirit of the Isles themselves. The kingdom’s wealth in timber, stone, and honest trade bolsters its standing among the Moonshaes, while its people—devoted to the Earthmother—stand firm against both invader and storm, their songs echoing from glen to keep.

Kingdom of Many-Arrows

Dark Arrow Keep, a fractured remnant of the once-mighty Kingdom of Many-Arrows, stands stark against the Spine of the World, roughly forty miles north of Mithral Hall. Founded by the unusually intelligent orc Obould Many-Arrows in the 14th century, this kingdom, marked by its brief, improbable peace with neighboring realms, once spanned from Mithral Hall to the Moonwood, southward to the Evermoors. Now, the keep and its surrounding territory are a shadow of their former glory. Internal strife, drow insurrection, and the ambitions of warlords like Hartusk have reduced the kingdom to a mere tribe, clinging to the ruins of its past. The imposing stone fortress, Dark Arrow Keep, still looms, a testament to Obould's vision, though its halls now echo with the whispers of a diminished orcish presence. Though King Lorgru holds nominal control after a tumultuous period of betrayal and war, the Many-Arrows tribe no longer commands the same respect or fear it once did.

Kintyre

Kintyre lies entombed in the glacial depths of Cania, the eighth layer of the Nine Hells—a silent, frozen city preserved in a state of mysterious stasis beneath miles of blue-black ice. Vast and uninhabited, its architecture is like nothing known in mortal or infernal realms: asymmetrical spires, ribbed domes, and sharp-angled vaults etched with symbols not yet deciphered. No records name its builders, and none claim dominion over it, yet its presence suggests a civilization lost or a dark purpose awaiting fulfillment. Some infernal scholars whisper it predates even Mephistopheles’s rise, while others suspect it is a prison, a vault, or a dormant weapon hidden in the cold. Reaching Kintyre is perilous—the air brittle with frost-magic, the ice cracking beneath one’s feet, and the presence of Cania’s native gelugons and pitiless winds ever near. Those who’ve glimpsed it speak of a humming beneath the silence, as though the city still dreams, waiting for something—or someone—to awaken it.

Korinn Archipelago

The Korinn Archipelago sprawls like a jagged crown along the northern fringe of the Moonshae Isles, its scattered islets battered by salt wind and the relentless fury of the Moonshae Sea. A sailor’s nightmare and an adventurer’s lure, these islands are ringed with razor-like reefs and beset by sudden storms. Griffons wheel above sharp peaks, harpies sing from crags to lure sailors to their doom, and wyverns prowl the upper skies with cold malice. Beneath the churning waters, ancient dragon turtles slumber in coral-flecked caves, their bulk stirring the tides as they dream. On land, crumbling ruins—stone towers, altars, and forgotten cairns—hint at long-fallen kingdoms, some tied to foul arcane legacies. Gargoyles, half-blended with the sea-worn stone, watch from shadowed ledges, unmoving until prey draws near. Few settlements exist, and those that do are transient, clinging to jagged shores. The Korinn Archipelago is a place of elemental wildness.

Kuldahar

Nestled within the frigid Spine of the World, south of Icewind Dale’s Ten Towns, lies Kuldahar, an anomaly of verdant warmth. At its heart stands the Great Oak, a majestic tree gifted by Silvanus, its magical aura banishing the biting cold and fostering a lush haven. The town, built around this arboreal miracle some thirty years prior to 1281 DR, serves as a sanctuary for druids and pilgrims seeking the tree's blessings. Kuldahar Valley, accessed via the treacherous Kuldahar Pass, connects the town to southern lands, though the pass is rife with frost giants and other perils. In recent times, yuan-ti invaders sought to corrupt the Oak, utilizing a hidden portal within its roots, but the archdruid Iselore stood firm in its defense. Travelers may encounter Rattatofkr, a spirit-guide, who aids in navigating the treacherous paths to the Oak.

Labyrinth of Twisted Law

The Labyrinth of Twisted Law coils through the infernal depths like a bureaucratic beast, a sprawling, sentient maze crafted from infernal statutes and shifting jurisprudence. Deep within Nessus or perhaps existing simultaneously across multiple layers of the Nine Hells, it serves as both trial and crucible for devils vying to ascend the hierarchy of Hell. Every corridor is lined with walls of shifting text—edicts, clauses, and binding contracts—that change with each step, requiring constant reinterpretation. Pit fiend judges, cloaked in black fire and armed with quills of molten gold, observe from hovering tribunals, ready to punish missteps or reward cunning with infernal favor. The very ground reshapes in response to flawed logic or hesitating arguments. Traps of contradiction, sanctums of testimony, and paradox doors abound. The scent of parchment, scorched vellum, and sealing wax saturates the air. Here, Asmodeus’s genius manifests in flawless, inescapable legal entanglement.

Lake Esmel

Lake Esmel, the largest freshwater lake in Amn and all the Lands of Intrigue, lies southeast of Esmeltaran, cradled between the Cloud Peaks and the Small Teeth. Fed by four rivers and the hidden headwaters of the Esmelflow, the lake serves as both a geographic and economic keystone, linking eastern Amn with the Sea of Swords and the wilds beyond. Its waters are deep—so deep, in fact, that their bottom has never been charted, despite arcane attempts. Lake Esmel supports a thriving fishing economy, especially for the rare dunchow, a silver-scaled delicacy favored by nobles and merchant lords alike. However, the lake is also steeped in unease. Whispers persist of an ancient Sarrukh prison buried in the trench-like depths, a place where magical experiments twisted time and flesh alike. Locals speak of enormous shadows moving beneath the surface and say that sometimes, the lake sings in voices not heard since the fall of the Creator Races.

Lake Longreach

Lake Longreach is a cold, isolated body of water in the Moonsea North region of Faerûn, hidden in a mountain-ringed lowland east of the Ride. Surrounded on all sides by the jagged spines of the White Peaks, the West Galenas, and the Dragonspines, this closed lake is fed by frigid mountain streams—Telstang Brook, Naed Creek, and Razack’s Tears—and drains only southward, flowing past the ruins of Castle Vathar into the accursed Glumpen Swamp of Thar. Long untouched by civilization, Lake Longreach is steeped in dark legend: most notably as the resting place of Tyranthraxus, a warlord of pre-Upheaval antiquity whose disembodied spirit was sealed in a vial of radiant water and cast into its depths. The lake’s isolation and historical burden have long kept it shunned, and few venture to its shores save hermits, madmen, and those who seek power long buried.

Lake of Dragons

Dragonmere, the Lake of Dragons, stretches along the western edge of the Sea of Fallen Stars, a vital artery of trade connecting the realms of Cormyr and Sembia to the perilous Dragon Coast. This expansive lake, nearly a hundred miles at its widest, narrows to a mere ten miles, flanked by the bustling port city of Westgate to the south and the ancient town of Urmlaspyr to the north. Its waters, often shrouded in mist and legend, reflect the jagged cliffs and dense forests that border its shores. Sailors whisper tales of ancient draconic spirits and hidden underwater ruins, making passage across Dragonmere both lucrative and treacherous. Trade vessels, laden with goods, navigate its depths, braving sudden squalls and the potential for encounters with monstrous denizens that lurk beneath the surface. The lake's strategic importance makes it a focal point for political intrigue and economic competition, attracting adventurers and merchants alike.

Layers 1-100 of the Abyss

The first hundred layers of the Abyss are a chaotic tapestry of nightmarish realms. Pazunia, the first layer, is a barren wasteland pierced by yawning pits that plunge into deeper layers, ruled by the obyrith Pazuzu and dotted with iron fortresses of lesser demon lords. From the insect-infested Driller’s Hives to the memory-devouring Forgotten Land, and the bottomless chasm of the Grand Abyss, these layers defy mortal comprehension. Realms of beholder gods, acid oceans, and shadow demons blend with frozen wastes and jungles of flesh-eating trees. The Demonweb Pits, a colossal spider web, and the volcanic Gaping Maw, home to Demogorgon. Each layer is a unique hellscape, ruled by powerful entities, and connected by the ever-shifting currents of the River Styx, or the River of Blood. Portals to other planes warp and change, making navigation a deadly gamble. The Abyss is a realm of constant flux, destruction, and rebirth, where only the most vicious and adaptable thrive.

Layers 101-200 of the Abyss

Layers 101-200 of the Abyss present a chaotic tapestry of demonic domains. Layer 111, the Mind of Evil, is a sentient, insane plane fused with the demon lord Sch'thrruppasstt, nullifying magic and trapping visitors in a living nightmare. Layer 113, Thanatos, is a desolate land of ruins and undead, ruled by Orcus from his bone-and-obsidian palace, Everlost. Slugbed (128) is a foggy expanse of forests and seas, home to the slumbering Lupercio, with rare glimpses of angelic castles. Outcasts' End (137) belongs to Azazel, while Lifebane (142) is Chemosh's undead realm. Torrent (148) is contested. Hollow's Heart (176) is Fraz-Urb'luu's illusory domain, a rebuilt continent amid a featureless dust plain. The Writhing Realm (177) is Ugudenk's, and the Rotting Plain (181) is Laogzed's stinking savanna, a dumping ground for devoured entities. Fountain of Screams (191) is rulerless, and Vulgarea (193) belongs to Eshebala, goddess of foxwomen.

Layers 201-300 of the Abyss

Layers 201-300 of the Abyss present a grotesque tableau of demonic domains. Shedaklah, the Slime Pits (222), reeks of Juiblex's fetid swamps and Zuggtmoy's fungal palaces, a realm of oozing decay under sickly green skies. Offalmound (223), once Moander's domain, remains contested. The Dreaming Gulf (230) drifts in dark winds, haunted by the fading dreams of dead gods. Palpitatia (241) is a lightless wasteland ruled by bugbear deities, while the Scalding Sea (245) boils with acidic waves, its black glass island a monument to agony. The Hidden Layer (248), ravaged by storms, conceals deadly flora and the legacy of Eltab, its fractured remnants scattered across Faerûn. Durao (274) bristles with militaristic might, a staging ground for the Blood War along the Styx. Belistor (277) is an empty void, Yrsillar's desolate domain. The Sighing Cliffs (297) echo with Lynkhab's regret, and Feng-Tu (300) stands as a demonic citadel on the How Nai-ho, ruled by Tou Mu and Lu Yueh.

Layers 301-400 of the Abyss

Layers 301-400 of the Abyss are diverse. Layer 303, the Sulfanorum, is a smoke-choked realm of countless fire pits. Layer 313, Gorrion's Grasp, is a contested territory housing Illssender’s tower and a captive molydeus. The Broken Scale, layer 333, belongs to Hiddukel, god of lies and greed, while the contested layer 340, the Black Blizzard, is a frigid, hostile zone. Layer 348, Indifference, a once abandoned realm of Thralhavoc, now holds the Fortress of Indifference, ruled by Tapheon, amidst a landscape of rocky pinnacles and red skies. The Arc of Eternity, layer 359, belongs to Eldanoth, the Bloodless Scion. The Plains of Gallenshu, layer 377, is a decaying realm of dust and bone, home to armanites and a forgotten varrangoins civilization. The Hungry Tarns, layer 380, are poisonous fens and black lakes, remnants of Sertrous’s influence, infested with serpents. The Worm Realm, layer 399, a maze of tunnels in solid rock, is Urdlen’s domain, inhabited by fungal-infected creatures.

Layers 401-500 of the Abyss

Layers 401-500 of the Abyss. From the nalfeshnee-ruled Woeful Escarand, where lords determine the fates of petitioners, to the desolate Rainless Waste and the gnoll-infested Death Dells ruled by Yeenoghu. Doresain's White Kingdom presents a macabre, albeit civilized, undead aristocracy, while unnamed layers hold swamplands of adaru corruption and the cacodemon realm of Ahriman-abad. Androlynne, paradoxically beautiful, serves as a battleground between eladrin captives and their demonic tormentors. Guttlevetch, a realm of ceaseless storms. The baroque Lair of the Beast is ruled by the vampire Kanchelsis. Noisome Vale, once ruled by the balor Tarnhem, now festers with acidic fumes and worms. The Steeping Isle, Siragle's domain, is a desolate wasteland, and Carroristo, a fortress amidst a caustic sea, teems with fiendish creatures. The 500th layer, ruled by Kali, a blood-soaked jungle with a screaming ocean, connects to other layers through numerous portals.

Layers 501-600 of the Abyss

The Abyss, layers 501-600. Torremor, now Lamashtu's, is a twisted tangle of masonry. Occipitus, a corrupted piece of Celestia ruled by Adimarchus, has spongy flesh terrain and bone forests. Melantholep drives visitors insane, rumored home to chole dragons. The March of the Pierced Men and the Forest of Living Tongues are torture grounds for mortal souls. Shatterstone is Vaprak's pitiful cave realm. Molor, the Stinking Realm, oozes decay, ruled by Juiblex. Vudra, Shaktari's Bloodsea, teems with poisonous flora and fauna. Garavond is an airless void, Haagenti's domain. Fleshforges, Dwiergus's realm, is a shifting mass of organic matter. Soulfreeze, Aseroth's icy domain, chills minds and bodies. Shendilavri, Malcanthet's beautiful yet deceptive realm, hides dark temptations. Diinkarazan's Prison of the Mad God is a swirling vortex. Goranthis, Socothbenoth's pleasure palace, lures with false beauty. The Endless Maze, Baphomet's labyrinth, houses minotaurs and the obyrith Pale Night.

Layers 601-700 of the Abyss

Layers 601-700 of the Abyss. Conflagratum, the 601st, blazes with unnatural white fire, consuming a city of bizarre angles, the domain of Alzrius and its fire spiders. Vallashan, the 628th, lures the righteous with false promises of victory, twisting their souls into self-destruction. The 643rd, the Caverns of the Skull, shared by Kali, the Black Earth Mother, is a maze of shifting tunnels where xorn, eyewings, and fireshadows clash in endless cycles of death and rebirth, guarded portals blocking escape. Nethuria, ruled by Vucarik, Consort of Chains, lies at layer 651, while the disputed Rift of Corrosion occupies 652. Zionyn, the 663rd, a vermin-plagued realm of Obox-ob, Prince of Vermin, stretches as a land of resinous oceans and teeming horrors. The 665th layer, the Void, is a bottomless black abyss where magic falters and winds strip flesh from bone, a place of no return. The Styx, weaves through these layers, linking them to other fiendish planes.

Lheshayl

Lheshayl, a proud and resilient city of riders, clings to the southwestern rim of the Shining Plains, where grasslands meet the rugged slopes of the Rushing Hills. Modest in size yet rich in tradition, it is famed for its expert cavalry and bustling horse markets, attracting traders and mercenaries from Murann, Alaghôn, and beyond via the winding Tethyr Road. The city’s martial spirit is rooted in generations of chieftain-led governance, and its riders are as respected as its horse stock is prized. Yet danger lurks beyond its paddocks: the Krakk’t, a vicious insectoid tribe, prowl the nearby hills, ambushing travelers—particularly elves—with brutal efficiency. To the north, the terrain grows strange and scarred, where a magical cataclysm once reshaped the land into the cracked and blighted Xian badlands. Despite this, Lheshayl thrives as a hardy outpost of discipline and pride, a place where the wind carries the scent of saddle oil, sweat, and ever-watchful vigilance.

Little Calimshan

Little Calimshan is a walled enclave in Baldur’s Gate’s Outer City, fiercely independent and steeped in the heritage of its southern homeland. A chaotic and boisterous district, it reflects the vibrancy of Calimshan through its sounds, scents, and social fabric. The residents—primarily Calishites—live according to their own customs, speaking Alzhedo among themselves and dressing in flowing silks and embroidered vests. The district is subdivided into drudachs, each with its own walls and identity, giving the whole of Little Calimshan the feeling of a fortress made of smaller, walled strongholds. While they speak Common and Chondathan when needed, locals prefer to keep dealings within their own community. The Guild exerts heavy control here, with Rilsa Rael—its cunning and charismatic kingpin—running a covert empire from within. Despite the crime and tension, the Oasis theater offers art and escape, drawing audiences with its lavish Calishite productions and exotic flair.

Long Arm Lake

Long Arm Lake, once known as the Lake of the Long Arm, is a sprawling inland body of water in the Dragon Coast region of the Eastern Heartlands. Fed by the Wet River from the misty Wet Wood at the foot of the Orsraun Mountains, its surface stretches like a grasping hand through rich and contested lands. The lake played a pivotal role in ancient myth and mystery—marking the southern border of Borem’s dominion, one of the Seven Lost Gods, long before the Standing Stone was raised. In later centuries, the Shou feudal nation of Nathlan established its capital, Nathlekh, along its fertile banks. Arcane secrets sleep beneath the water’s depths; most notably, the magister Eldrus Wands once piloted a derelict spelljammer into the lake as a prank of cosmic scale. Its submerged hull is now the subject of wizardly speculation. Rumors persist of a portal hidden along the lake’s southern shore that leads to the long-ruined Sarrukh city of Ilimar.

Longsaddle

Longsaddle, nestled along the Long Road between the Crags and the Evermoors, is a curious crossroad of rustic charm and arcane eccentricity. Though home to only around a thousand residents, its membership in the Lords’ Alliance stems from the formidable presence of the Harpell family—an old and powerful line of wizards whose Ivy Mansion dominates the town’s skyline with ivy-covered towers, chimneys that puff multicolored smoke, and the occasional transmuted cow. Magic is a daily part of life in Longsaddle, from animate scarecrows patrolling fields to weather vanes that predict tomorrow’s moods. Travelers rest at the cozy Gilded Horseshoe or test their luck at the Gambling Golem, a raucous festhall known for card games, enchanted dice, and scattershields—an explosive marble game that regularly repairs itself. Dowell Harpell, both courtly and mildly unhinged, serves as the town’s voice in the Alliance, balancing his kin’s magical antics with the region’s political demands.

Lower City

The Lower City of Baldur’s Gate stretches beneath the looming heights of the Upper City like a coiled serpent, worn, gritty, and endlessly alive. Here, along the storm-battered edge of Gray Harbor, the city's heart beats to the rhythm of creaking masts, shouting stevedores, and the unending churn of trade. Salt and smoke cling to the air, mingling with the stench of fish, sweat, and spilled ale. Narrow alleys wind between sagging tenements and shopfronts, their balconies crowded with drying nets and flapping laundry. Vendors hawk trinkets, charms, and stolen goods, their cries competing with the din of dockside taverns and dice games. The raucous clamor of the Elfsong Tavern mingles with gutter-song and whispered dealings. Beneath its grime and bustle, the Lower City conceals a hundred stories—of ambition, desperation, loyalty, and betrayal—each one echoing in the footfalls of a thousand souls trying to rise or survive. It is a crucible where power, coin, and grit are tested daily.

Lunia, the Silver Heaven

Lunia, the Silver Heaven, is the first and bottommost layer of Mount Celestia, a realm of starlit serenity. A vast, tranquil ocean, the Silver Sea, stretches to the horizon, its waters shimmering with holy light and populated by celestial sea creatures. The night sky above is a spectacle of silver stars, casting a gentle glow upon the pristine beaches and the base of the colossal mountain that rises from the sea. Majestic citadels of polished white stone dot the landscape, their towers reaching towards the starry expanse. This layer serves as the initial point of entry for travelers arriving from the Astral Plane, who find themselves deposited in the surf of the Silver Sea. It is also home to Tyr’s secondary realm, the Court, a place of righteous judgment and unwavering law. The air is filled with the soft murmur of the waves and the distant harmonies of celestial choirs, creating an atmosphere of profound peace and tranquility. Lunia is a place of beginnings.

Lurkwood

Lurkwood—known as Vurykvudd to the dwarves—is a vast, brooding expanse of temperate hardwoods nestled south of the Spine of the World. Towering oaks, maples, and elms interlace overhead to form a dense, whispering canopy that filters sunlight into shifting emerald patterns on the forest floor. Within its heart, the reclusive Thunderbeast tribe roams—barbarian nomads who revere ancient, thunder-lizard spirits and guard their territory with primal ferocity. To the east lies Mithral Hall, dwarven bastion of legend, while Mirabar’s mines and forges echo from the western ridges. Southward, the walled town of Nesmé clings to the edge of wildness, its wary citizens keeping eyes northward. Lurkwood’s interior is a place of myth and danger: hidden glades, stone circles lost to time, and predator-haunted hollows accessible only by those who know the old paths. Its beauty is primal, untouched, and ever-watching—an ancient forest where nature's power still reigns supreme.

Luskan

Luskan, the infamous City of Sails, lies sprawled at the River Mirar’s mouth, battered by salt winds and a turbulent past. Once a proud northern port, its glory dimmed in the wake of the Spellplague and years of internecine strife. Now, the city teeters between anarchy and revival, ruled not by a council but by five “Ships”—pirate factions whose High Captains compete for control. The city’s skyline is pierced by the Hosttower of the Arcane, a twisting, many-spired relic of the Arcane Brotherhood, now reoccupied. Luskan’s streets are a mix of mud, stone, and desperation, where crime festers and power changes hands in the span of a sword thrust. Yet under the calculated guidance of Bregan D’aerthe and the flamboyant Jarlaxle Baenre, a strange order has begun to take root. Disguised drow agents, like Beniago Kuth, work behind the scenes to stabilize trade and bolster defenses.

Malabog's Realm

Malabog’s Realm, a dread dominion within the Feywild, festers beneath a sky of eternal dusk. Ruled by the tyrannical fomorian king Malabog, the land is a grotesque inversion of Feywild splendor—where natural beauty curdles into nightmare. Towering fortresses of dark iron and cracked obsidian pierce the mist-choked air, their battlements manned by twisted giants, redcaps, and mutated fey. The landscape pulses with unstable arcane energy, warping trees into gnarled claws and rivers into tar-like streams that whisper secrets to the mad. Once-sacred glades now serve as courts of torment and spectacle, where Malabog revels in displays of cruelty. His throne, deep within the Iron Maw Citadel, oversees a realm wracked by pain and dominion. Even time feels corrupted here—days stretch endlessly, and dreams unravel. Those who enter this domain without powerful wards risk being transformed, enslaved, or lost to its ever-warping terrain.

Maladomini

Maladomini, the Seventh Layer of Baator, is a plane of exhausted grandeur and desolate ambition—a ruined bureaucracy poisoned by Baalzebul’s obsession with unattainable perfection. Its cities, once raised in mathematical symmetry, were abandoned as flaws emerged, now lying in cracked ruins choked by poisonous ash, magma-choked rivers, and collapsing mines dug in search of infernal materials. The land is diseased, mirroring the moral rot of its lord, twisting both devil and domain alike. Winding tunnels beneath failed metropolises house all ranks of devils—from scheming bureaucrats to mindless swarm devils—and echo with whispers from infernal archives, where the soul-ledgers of Hell’s endless contracts are still dutifully maintained. Amid the decay, the Carnival Eternal offers twisted indulgences to those seeking escape, while Malagard, the once-proud capital, crumbles beneath the weight of futility. Here, even failures breed function, and damnation is processed with methodical despair.

Malagard

Malagard—also called Malagarde—is the fetid crown jewel of Maladomini, the greatest city of the Seventh Hell and the festering seat of Baalzebul’s power. Once intended as a flawless monument to infernal order, the city now stands in grotesque parody of its purpose: streets overflow with rivers of refuse and the skeletal remnants of once-majestic spires tilt precariously into sludge-choked alleys. The air hums with flies and despair, while broken statues and collapsed temples bear mute witness to Baalzebul’s obsession with perfection gone wrong. At the city's heart lies the Palace of Filth, a monumental structure collapsed under its own grandeur into a stinking mire of feces, bile, and failed ambition. Baalzebul still resides there, brooding amid the ruins, his presence corrupting all who approach. Yet despite its squalor, Malagard endures as the central city of Maladomini—a grotesque testament to devilish pride, failure, and the beauty of ruin.

Malbolge

Malbolge, the sixth layer of the Nine Hells, is a grotesque, ever-tilting mountainscape of stone and scree, cursed with unending landslides and bone-shattering rockfalls. Travel is an act of defiance, as footing vanishes beneath the weight of the damned. Devils anchor their lairs to adamantine spires or burrow into the mountainside like parasites. Once ruled by the Hag Countess, Malbolge now belongs to Glasya, daughter of Asmodeus, who transformed the layer into an infernal penitentiary. Her Citadel rises from a stable core of the slope, housing her favored erinyes and mortal sycophants in equal measure. Deep beneath it lies the Garden of Delights—a gilded prison of exquisite torment, where pleasure masks punishment. Imps flit like carrion birds, and infernal vermin burrow through the soft scree, feeding on agony. Glasya’s rule is capricious yet cunning, and Malbolge’s chaos reflects her brilliance and cruelty in equal measure.

Malsheem

Malsheem, the infernal metropolis at the heart of Nessus—the ninth and deepest layer of the Nine Hells—is a sprawling city of unmatched scale and dread purpose. Situated within an impossibly deep trench beneath the Pit of Cania, it is the throne and war engine of Asmodeus himself. Malsheem is no mere city; it is a mustering ground for legions of devils, kept in readiness for a prophesied apocalyptic war. The city pulses with disciplined menace, its broad obsidian avenues echoing with the march of hellish armies. At its core rises Fortress Nessus, a monolithic stronghold of black iron and ruby fire, visible for miles across the desolate plains of Nessus. From here, Asmodeus rules the Hells and watches the multiverse, crafting pacts, shaping destinies, and orchestrating eternal law. Malsheem is where infernal edicts are born, where the fate of souls is sealed, and where the will of the Supreme Archfiend manifests in tangible power.

Manorborn

Manorborn stands as the ancestral heart of Baldur’s Gate’s elite—where the city’s oldest and wealthiest patriarch families reside in stately grandeur. Nestled in the western quarter of the Upper City, it serves as a symbol of Balduran’s legacy, with its residents claiming descent from those who first settled the city’s heights. The district's cobbled lanes wind between towering, opulent manors—each adorned with carved gargoyles, imported marble fountains, and hedge-lined courtyards shielded by wrought-iron gates. Many of the nobles here serve in the Parliament of Peers, shaping the city's laws while quietly maneuvering for greater influence. Manorborn also boasts a small enclave of eccentric mages and venerable sages, among them Ragefast and Krammoch Arkhstaff, who find solace and patronage amid the opulence. The storied Manor Gate, an ancient stone arch, separates this district from the more chaotic Bloomridge below, marking a firm boundary between privilege and populism.

Marsember

Marsember, the "City of Spices," is a vibrant, canal-laced port nestled on the Dragon Coast of Cormyr, sprawling across dozens of tidal islets and reclaimed marshland at the mouth of the Starwater River. Once a den of corsairs and pirates, the city has transformed into Cormyr’s second-largest port, famed for its aromatic bazaars, spired villas, and labyrinthine waterways. Bridges, both elegant and makeshift, bind the city together, while gondola-like riverboats glide through the canals bearing wares and whispers alike. Though royal forces now maintain a firm presence, remnants of its lawless past persist—Zhentarim operatives, black-market smugglers, and doppelgangers move in the margins, masked by the bustle. Watchful Purple Dragons and War Wizards patrol the spice-scented quays, but Marsember’s charm lies in its blend of opulence and intrigue, where commerce, culture, and danger entwine in every mist-laced alley.

Marsh of Chelimber

The Marsh of Chelimber, a vast and perilous wetland in the Western Heartlands, sprawls between the Greypeak Mountains and Greycloak Hills, its creation tied to a devastating magical duel in 993 DR. Once fertile lowlands, the area was drowned by uncontrolled water elementals, leaving behind a rotting morass of stagnant pools, sinkholes, and drowned ruins. The skeletal remains of a long-dead human kingdom lie beneath the reeds, guarded by ghostly sentinels who wander sunken courtyards and moss-choked towers. The marsh teems with hostile life: lizardfolk zealously defend their territory, bullywugs clash in croaking warbands, and sivs prowl the shadowed deeps. Thick fog rolls across the waters, and eerie lights often flicker above the muck, luring the unwary. The region remains largely unexplored, its arcane scars still festering and its secrets drowned in centuries of mire and legend.

Menzoberranzan

Menzoberranzan, the infamous “City of Spiders,” festers in the depths of the Upper Northdark, two miles beneath the Surbrin Vale between the Moonwood and Frost Hills. A city of stunning yet sinister beauty, its grand towers and arching bridges shimmer with permanent faerie fire, illuminating the obsidian architecture shaped in homage to Lolth. Here, the drow thrive in a society ruled by Matron Mothers, where Houses vie for dominance through assassination, subterfuge, and divine favor. The city is divided into noble estates, merchant enclaves, and commoner quarters, each layer seething with ambition. The Academy of Tier Breche trains future priestesses, mages, and warriors in Lolth’s doctrine. Spiders and driders patrol its shadows, while the silence of the Underdark hums with tension. Menzoberranzan is not merely a city—it is a crucible of cruelty, where loyalty is fleeting, strength is survival, and betrayal is the only currency worth trusting.

Mephistar

Mephistar, the fortress of Mephistopheles, rises in terrifying grandeur from the heart of Nargus, a living glacier on Cania, the frigid Eighth Layer of Hell. Carved from the glacier itself and kept habitable by infernal heat drawn from Mephistopheles’s will, this citadel defies nature’s grip, fusing ice and flame in unnatural harmony. Towering spires of supernaturally reinforced ice house vast libraries of arcane knowledge, alchemical vaults, and laboratories where hellfire and frost are manipulated with cruel precision. The glacier shifts at its master’s whim, isolating or revealing strategic halls, crushing enemies beneath fathom-thick ice or revealing pit traps that plummet into frozen abysses. Mephistar is both palace and fortress, a bastion of diabolic cunning and magical innovation. Guarded by gelugons, pit fiends, and Mephistopheles’s chosen devils, it is a forbidden stronghold where secrets too dangerous for the Hells are studied and weaponized.

Mercuria, the Golden Heaven

Mercuria, the Golden Heaven, the second layer of Mount Celestia, is bathed in a warm, golden light that suffuses every aspect of its landscape. Gentle hills roll across the terrain, interspersed with lush, verdant valleys, creating a pastoral scene of serene beauty. This layer serves as a marshaling ground for the celestial armies of lawful good, and armories filled with gleaming weapons and armor stand ready for the plane’s noble warriors. Monuments and tombs dedicated to fallen paladins and heroes dot the landscape, honored during an annual Day of Memory. Bahamut's jeweled palace, a marvel of celestial craftsmanship, moves across this layer, its walls crafted from mithral and its windows from precious gemstones. Small settlements of archons and other goodly beings thrive here, their lives dedicated to the pursuit of righteousness. The air is filled with the golden glow of divine energy, and the sounds of gentle brooks and the distant calls of celestial trumpets.

Mere of Dead Men

The Mere of Dead Men—known in Elvish as Merdelain, the “Slow Marching Court”—is a vast, fog-drenched saltwater swamp along the Sword Coast North, nestled between the cities of Waterdeep and Neverwinter. Created in 615 DR when the lich Iniarv flooded the land to repel an orc invasion, the Mere swallowed the ancient kingdoms of Uthtower and Yarlith, leaving behind a haunted, waterlogged expanse. Its fog-choked waters, flooded ruins, and magical instability make it one of Faerûn’s most cursed landscapes. The region teems with black dragons, trolls, lizardfolk, bullywugs, and the undead—all drawn to its latent necromantic energy. Notable among its dark history is the reign of the dracolich Chardansearavitriol (Ebondeath), and the manipulations of twin black dragons Voaraghamanthar and Waervaerendor. The Cult of the Dragon, ruined sects of Myrkul, and lingering undead still haunt the mire’s depths, their ambitions buried in muck and memory.

Mertion, the Platinum Heaven

Mertion, the Platinum Heaven and fifth layer of Mount Celestia, is a realm of solemn preparation and radiant resolve. Sweeping golden plains and silvery savannas stretch across the horizon, broken only by vast black domes and shining bastions where celestial warriors drill and pray. This is the heart of Celestia’s martial order—a training ground for paladins, planetars, and archons alike. Towering citadels rise like lighthouses of law, their spires crowned with symbols of divine justice. The sacred city of Empyrea, known as the City of Tempered Souls, lies by a mirrorlike mountain lake, where fountains enchanted by the gods restore body and spirit alike. Here, the faithful are tested, tempered, and healed before continuing their divine missions. The air vibrates with chants, sparring shouts, and the echo of celestial horns, all underscored by the unshakable purpose of those who serve good through discipline. Mertion is not peace—it is purposeful preparation for righteous war.

Minauros

Minauros, the third layer of the Nine Hells, festers as a ceaseless mire of decay and vice, ruled by the archdevil Mammon, the Serpent of Greed. Its terrain—suffocating bogs, sulfuric sloughs, and treacherous mudflats—devours even its grandest cities. Acid rain and razor-sharp hail flay flesh and corrode all, while the great citadel of Minauros the City slowly sinks into the reeking muck. Here, wealth is both weapon and illusion; souls are traded as currency in infernal markets, where nothing retains value for long. Mammon’s devils—lemures, barbed devils, and chain-clad kytons—enforce an ever-fluctuating economic hierarchy of bribes, blackmail, and debt. The very air stinks of rot and ambition. Towering ruins like Jangling Hiter clank and sway above the sludge, held together by Mammon’s schemes as much as by their chains. Beneath the surface, ancient secrets writhe in the depths, protected by the greed of those who would rather die than let them go.

Minauros, the Sinking City

Minauros, the Sinking City, dominates its layer as Mammon's seat. It's a vast, perpetually sinking metropolis, requiring endless repairs to combat the swampy terrain. This ceaseless struggle defines its existence. As the economic hub of the Nine Hells, Minauros is a hive of activity, processing and minting new souls. Its streets teem with devils engaged in trade and bureaucratic tasks, reflecting Mammon's obsession with wealth. The architecture is a mix of decaying grandeur and hasty reinforcement, a testament to the city's constant battle against the encroaching mire. The air is thick with the stench of sulfur, decay, and the metallic tang of freshly minted soul coins. Despite its precarious position, Minauros thrives, a testament to the archdevil's relentless pursuit of profit. It's a place of relentless industry, where the value of a soul is measured in coin, and the city's sinking fate is a constant, grim reminder of Mammon's avarice.

Mintarn

Mintarn, a rugged island in the Sea of Swords, 400 miles southwest of Waterdeep, serves as a haven for pirates, mercenaries, and those seeking neutral ground. Ruled by a tyrant, a tradition stemming from Tarnheel Embuirhan, the island maintains a unique blend of lawlessness and commerce. Its bustling harbor facilitates trade, exporting ships, mercenaries, and food, while importing Moonshae wood and Mabadann oysters. Famous taverns and festhalls teem with danger and opportunity. The island's history is marked by tributes paid to the dragon Hoondarrh and its lucrative mercenary trade, once bolstered by Waterdeep and Neverwinter. Notable locations include Castle Mintarn, the pirate-run Cove of the Queen, and Mintarn Mountain, rumored to house a hidden dwarven hold. The island produces distinct beverages like Mintarn lager, green wine, almond brandy, and Best Old Mintarn whiskey. Tarnians, the island's inhabitants, cultivate a culture that embraces both opportunity and peril.

Mirabar

Mirabar, the gleaming gem of the North, stands as a fortified fusion of dwarven resilience and human pragmatism. Perched at the edge of the Spine of the World, this wealthy mining city thrives on the iron, mithral, and gemstone veins beneath it, harvested by 1,600 shield dwarves who dwell in a subterranean metropolis of echoing forges and sculpted stone halls. Above ground, humans oversee trade and administration, forming a cooperative if occasionally tense alliance. Governed by the Marchion, with oversight from the dwarf-led Council of Sparkling Stones, Mirabar is a pillar of prosperity and defense, exporting masterwork metalcraft and ore through the River Mirar and overland caravans. Its formidable sloped walls, battlemented towers, and reinforced harbor guard against orcs, frost giants, and worse. Though pragmatic and profit-driven, the city remains a vital bastion of civilization in the wild frontier, its anvil song a call to order amid chaos.

Misty Forest

The Misty Forest, a perpetually damp and fog-laden expanse west of the High Moor and south of the Delimbiyr, presents a verdant yet perilous domain. Dominated by towering evergreens, particularly pines in the south and dense spruce thickets to the north, it serves as the heart of wild elf territory, ruled by King Melandrach. Within its shadowed depths lie Reugor’s Rock, a foreboding black monolith marking orcish caverns that menace the Trade Way. Scattered Tombholes, narrow fissures in the land, conceal the remains of past adventurers, sometimes yielding forgotten treasures. The Dead Glade, a small clearing, emanates a potent, ancient magic that warps the very essence of life. Rangers and druids diligently patrol the forest, safeguarding its delicate balance and protecting its diverse wildlife, which includes deer, bears, boars, and wild cows, from both natural and unnatural threats.

Mithral Hall

Mithral Hall, a sprawling dwarven stronghold nestled within Fourthpeak Mountain of the Frost Hills, serves as a vital settlement in Faerûn. Predominantly inhabited by shield dwarves, this large town of approximately 5,000 souls thrives on mithral mining and craftsmanship. Governed by a monarchy, its history is marked by conflict and resilience, notably the reign of Shimmergloom the shadow dragon and subsequent reclamation by Clan Battlehammer. The stronghold's labyrinthine structure, including the treacherous Maze, the central Undercity, and the deep Garumn's Gorge, features fortified entrances and hidden Underdark connections. Notable locations like the Hall of Dumathoin hold vast treasures, while burial sites honor heroes like Bruenor Battlehammer. Mithral Hall's economy centers on exporting mithral and iron, fostering alliances with dwarven citadels and facing rivalries with Mirabar.

Monguldarath

Monguldarath is a secluded, fortified keep perched above the windswept cliffs of Firedrake Bay in the county of Fyraven, on Tethyr’s Dragon’s Neck Peninsula. Encircled by groves of duskwood trees and often veiled in a salt-mist haze, the keep bears a long-whispered reputation for spectral sightings and eerie occurrences—though locals, long accustomed to such tales, treat the rumors with practiced indifference. Once the seat of the youthful and idealistic Lord Tanar Keelson, appointed by Queen Zaranda during her post-rebellion reforms, Monguldarath provided cautious refuge to adventurers, with strict codes regarding open displays of magic or arms. Since the Reclamation Wars, the now-promoted Seas' Admiral Keelson uses the keep sporadically, often away at sea. In his absence, a skeleton staff of loyal retainers works to restore the aging estate. Though rarely visited, Monguldarath remains a symbol of loyalty to Tethyr's crown and a lingering monument to its haunted past.

Moray Island

The Isle of Moray, a rugged, storm-wracked isle in the western Moonshaes, rises sharply from the churning sea, its mountainous terrain dominated by the jagged Trollclaw and Orcskull Ranges. Here, the Ffolk, bearing a strong Northman lineage, are a hardy, martial people, their settlements like Caer Moray and Dynnegall clinging to the harsh landscape. A monarchy governs the island's 29,000 souls, a mix of primarily Ffolk humans, with a small contingent of other humans and dwarves. The Orcskull Mountains, which bisect the island, have become a battleground, where Northlander warbands, since the recent peace, now raid monstrous inhabitants, honing their skills and protecting Moray's strategic defenses. Farview, a lonely outpost, watches the western horizon. The island's position makes it a vital shield against invaders, its people ever vigilant, their spirit as untamed as the winds that sweep its peaks.

Morgur's Mound

Morgur's Mound lies deep in the rugged Crags, a moss-covered hill shaped uncannily like a wingless dragon—an homage to the Thunderbeast totem of the Uthgardt barbarians. Named after Morgur, brother to the divine Uthgar, this site once served as a sacred burial ground for the Thunderbeast tribe, who believed themselves descendants of mighty dinosaurs. Though long abandoned, the mound still exudes spiritual potency and ancestral significance. It has suffered the trespass of tomb robbers and treasure seekers, yet tales speak of Thunderbeast shamans animating ancient bones to defend the site. Even after destruction wrought by outside forces, dinosaur skeletons, imbued with primal magic, continue to guard the mound’s deeper relics—among them, the rumored stone giant’s tooth, a powerful tribal heirloom. Morgur’s Mound remains a silent, brooding monument to a people whose spirit refuses to fade into myth.

Mosstone

Mosstone is a fortified, communal town nestled along the Trade Way in Tethyr, acting as a critical rest point for caravans navigating the perilous route between Zazesspur and Riatavin. Just north of the Wealdath, the ancient elven forest also known as the Forest of Tethir, Mosstone offers sanctuary from the surrounding wilds and the persistent dangers of Muranndin's nearby monster-haunted lands. Governed through shared responsibility rather than a centralized authority, the town operates under a tradition of civic duty, with residents rotating tasks like watchkeeping, road repairs, and public works. Inns, stables, and trading posts bustle with transient traffic, yet the town retains a close-knit spirit. The proximity of the Wealdath has fostered a delicate but respectful relationship with the local elves, who watch the town warily but allow its presence. Despite its modest size, Mosstone is both a practical necessity and a symbol of human cooperation in a land often marked by conflict.

Mount Celestia

Mount Celestia, the Seven Heavens, is a towering, infinite mountain of lawful good, ascending through seven distinct layers from a vast, holy ocean. Each layer, from the starlit Silver Sea of Lunia to the radiant peak of Chronias, boasts unique landscapes and celestial hues, housing archons, solars, and other goodly beings. Majestic citadels, jeweled palaces, and verdant valleys dot the terrain, while the air hums with divine energy. Deities like Bahamut, Moradin, and Torm claim realms within its slopes, and the souls of the worthy ascend through the layers, striving for ultimate unity with the plane in Chronias. The ascent through these layers represents a journey through increasing levels of righteousness, making it the pinnacle of lawful good afterlives. The mountain is surrounded by three lesser peaks, Martyrdom, Trueheart, and the Court, domains of powerful deities. The layers are accessed by climbing the mountain, with each ascent revealing a higher plane.

Mount Hotenow

Mount Hotenow, a once-sleeping giant nestled in the Crags northeast of Neverwinter, now looms as a volatile and wrathful monument to elemental chaos. Before its cataclysmic eruption in 1451 DR, the volcano served as a sanctuary for fire elementals and a secret anchor for warmth flowing into Neverwinter via underground veins. Its violent awakening devastated the region—obliterating the nearby town of Thundertree, blackening the sky, and reshaping the local climate. Within its fractured heart, rivers of lava churn and belch forth noxious gas, while elemental rifts flicker and scream, hinting at portals to the Elemental Plane of Fire—or worse, infernal realms. Tales tell of a reflection in the Shadowfell: a cursed twin where Mount Hotenow endlessly erupts into the bleak Evernight. Few venture near save for desperate fire cultists, reckless elementalists, or those drawn to its pulsing, malevolent heat. Even centuries later, the land bears the mark of its fury.

Mulhessen

Mulhessen, though modest in size, sits at a vital nexus along Sembia’s trade routes, where the Belduuk Road—grimly known as Rattlebones Ride—crosses the Way of the Manticore. Nestled north of Saerloon and flanked by the economic titans of Selgaunt and Daerlun, the town has endured war, politics, and mercantile intrigue by playing the quiet observer. Following the destruction of Ordulin in 1374 DR, Mulhessen shifted its allegiances with caution, ultimately pledging loyalty to Sembia's prevailing powers while avoiding deeper entanglements. The town boasts a curious blend of rustic charm and hidden sophistication: local legend speaks of Aldeguth the Arcane, a reclusive wizard said to watch over the town’s wards; Baerann Kordeemur, a famed composer whose operas echo through the hills; and Ormsel Eltunarr, a Harper in disguise who organizes trade caravans and whispers rebellion. Though Mulhessen rarely makes maps, it always finds its way into stories.

Murannheim

Once the glittering port of Amn’s southern coast, Murann—now twisted into Murannheim—stands as the brutal heart of Muranndin, a kingdom of monsters and ruin. In 1371 DR, the ogre mage Sothillis and his medusa consort Cyrvisnea seized the city in a sweeping conquest, transforming its bustling trade emporium into a militarized fortress. The harbors, once teeming with merchant ships, now swarm with hulking war barges and slaver vessels. Within its walls, towers bristle with crude sigils, and black banners bearing the Eye of the Great Mur flutter over parapets. Cyrvisnea’s necromantic influence seeps through its crypts and alleys, while Sothillis’ ogres rule through sheer might and fear. Infighting simmers between goblinoid warbands, ogre chieftains, and the undead elite, straining the fragile unity of this monstrous realm. Yet Murannheim holds fast, casting a long shadow over Amn’s southern ambitions and the battered Tethyrian frontier.

Myth Drannor

Myth Drannor, the shattered City of Song, sprawls across the ancient heart of Cormanthor forest, a haunting tapestry of ruined elegance. Once a beacon of inter-racial harmony, its skeletal towers and overgrown plazas whisper tales of a golden age lost. Crumbling archways, choked with vines and shadow, frame the remnants of elven artistry, now scarred by centuries of decay. The lingering echoes of the mythal, a once-powerful protective enchantment, still resonate faintly, a ghostly reminder of the city's former glory. Within its labyrinthine streets, dangers abound: remnants of fallen empires, monstrous denizens, and the ever-present threat of lingering magical anomalies. The air itself seems thick with forgotten magic, a palpable sense of both wonder and dread. Amidst the ruins, hidden treasures and lost knowledge lie waiting, guarded by the ghosts of a city that was, and the dangers of what it has become.

Nachtur

Nachtur, the so-called “Goblin Kingdom of the Feydark,” sprawls in chaotic glory beneath the murky twilight of the Feywild. A labyrinthine network of steaming forges, winding tunnels, and damp caverns lit by bioluminescent fungus, Nachtur stands as the dominion of the Great Gark, self-declared Lord of All the Goblins. Under Gark’s cunning and brutal leadership, the goblins of Nachtur have risen from scattered tribes to a militarized host of mercenaries, artisans, and raiders. Their society is both anarchic and surprisingly functional, held together by loyalty to Gark and opportunistic trade with powerful Feydark entities—hags, fomorians, and bitter Winter Fey. Magic in Nachtur warps with Feywild intensity: time flows strangely, illusions manifest unbidden, and even goblin tinkerers craft arcane-powered devices from bone and brass. This goblin realm thrives where beauty fades and danger sharpens, a cunning cancer rooted deep in the veins of the Feywild.

Najara

Najara is a venomous thread winding through the Western Heartlands, a so-called kingdom carved from the desolation of the High Moor, the dangerous Forest of Wyrms, and the reeking Marsh of Chelimber. Far from a stable nation, Najara is a tenuous coalition of serpentine overlords—spirit nagas, yuan-ti, and lizardfolk—each vying for dominance beneath a banner soaked in betrayal. At its core coils Jarant, a cunning spirit naga who overthrew Najara’s former rulers in a ruthless coup, now bearing the Marlspire of Najara, an ancient artifact that magnifies his arcane command. The yuan-ti Hss'tafi granted the Marlspire as both gift and leash, entangling Jarant in deeper conspiracies. Slavery, dark sorcery, and ancient ruins like Thlohtzin drive the kingdom's economy and cultic society. Najara's borders are illusions—its true power slithers through ruins, ambushes, and whispered pacts. No alliance in Najara is permanent, and no betrayal is unexpected.

Nelanther Isles

The Nelanther Isles, a vast archipelago in the Trackless Sea, west of Amn and Tethyr, consists of nearly a thousand islands, with over half being uninhabitable due to lack of fresh water. The remaining islands are fiercely contested by brutal pirates, posing a constant threat to shipping routes from Amn, Tethyr, Calimshan, the Sword Coast, and the Moonshae Isles. Mainland maps only detail the larger islands, omitting numerous hazards like currents, shoals, and small islets. Notable islands include Thordentor, a Twisted Rune stronghold, Hook Isle, located northwest of the main chain, and Nemessor, northwest of Thordentor. The Nelanther pirates are infamous for their cruelty, frequently torturing victims. Predominantly nonhuman, including orcs, lizardfolk, ogres, and minotaurs, these pirates are perpetually engaged in warfare, both amongst themselves and against outside forces, creating a chaotic and dangerous environment for seafarers.

Nessus

Nessus, the ninth and deepest layer of the Nine Hells, is a realm of cosmic dread—a scarred ellipse of searing red stone adrift in a void beyond comprehension. Jagged chasms and fire-raked plains define its surface, where rivers like the Styx and Lethe leak into alien basins such as the Forgotten Lake, each drop steeped in memory and damnation. At its heart lies Malsheem, the largest city in the Outer Planes, a fortress-city buried deep within a trench, home to Asmodeus himself. Below Malsheem coils the Serpent's Coil, an abyssal wound where Asmodeus's true form festers, spawning devils from divine ichor. Legion after legion of infernal beings—pit fiends, amnizus, cornugons—stand ready at his command. Nessus is a plane of judgment, war, and unrelenting law, where betrayal is refined into art and eternal suffering enforces order. Tabjari, the archive of infernal law, holds copies of the ancient Pact Primeval, safeguarding Hell's claim to mortal souls.

Nether Mountains

The Nether Mountains rise in jagged, obsidian defiance across the Silver Marches, a forbidding range that once marked the border between ancient realms. Now, they serve as a crucible of chaos and ambition. The orc tribes of the Thousand Fists and Ripped Gut, once bitter enemies, have forged a bloody alliance to seize control of the Moon Pass, dividing the mountains into embattled east and west. Dragondoom, the range’s towering peak, hides Morueme’s Cave—home to a cunning clan of blue dragons whose plots echo across the region. Their hobgoblin thralls, the Red Flayers, zealously defend the Doomspire, a fortress hewn from the mountain’s bones. Despite these threats, the mountains glimmer with rich veins of precious metals, attracting miners, prospectors, and treasure hunters. High above, amidst crags lashed by wind and shadow, the elusive Metallic Dragon Council gathers, wary of rising chromatic threats and mortal encroachments alike.

Neverwinter

Neverwinter, the Jewel of the North, is a bustling city on the Sword Coast, known for its skilled craftspeople and warm climate, a result of the Neverwinter River's geothermal heat from Mount Hotenow. Once a metropolis, it faced devastation from the Spellplague and Mount Hotenow's eruption, but has since been rebuilt by Lord Protector Dagult Neverember. The city's layout, shaped like an eye, features intricately carved bridges and diverse districts, including the Protector's Enclave, Blacklake, and the River District. Its population includes humans, half-elves, and various other races like dragonborn and tieflings. Trade thrives, with exports of crafts and magical innovations, and imports of mercenaries. Factions like the Neverwinter Guard and the Wintershield Watchmen maintain order amidst political intrigue from groups like the Ashmadai and the Dead Rats of Luskan. Temples to gods like Torm, Bahamut, and Selûne dot the city. Currently ruled by Lord Forge Fitzwilliam.

Neverwinter Wood

Neverwinter Wood, once the ancient Llewyrrwood, is a deep and brooding forest veined with the primal magic of the North. Its dark canopy shelters creatures both wondrous and wicked, fed by the warm currents of the Neverwinter River, whose source in Mount Hotenow keeps the forest mysteriously temperate year-round. The western Watcher's Forest, guarded by Helmites from nearby Helm’s Hold, forms a sacred vigil against the growing corruption within. Though elves once ruled here, their ruins lie scattered and half-swallowed by moss, and the Eldreth Veluuthra—an elven supremacist sect—haunt the woods, twisting its legacy with hatred. Orcs fear its depths, and even hardened travelers avoid the thickest glades, where gnolls, hobgoblins, and cunning bugbears prowl. Yet within this peril lies beauty: starlit glens, whispering groves, and a rumored feycross—a hidden gateway to the Feywild, stirring with otherworldly allure and unseen danger.

Norchapel

Tucked beyond the Basilisk Gate and enfolding the high-walled enclave of Little Calimshan, Norchapel is one of the most impoverished and perilous quarters of Baldur’s Gate. Its boundaries, tangled and unmarked, blend with those of Stonyeyes and Whitkeep, creating a patchwork sprawl where authority is tenuous and survival is hard-won. Home to day laborers, smugglers, refugees, and the truly destitute, Norchapel's dense alleys and makeshift homes teem with both desperation and defiance. Extortion, theft, and violence are commonplace, especially after sundown, when the watch rarely patrols and local gangs rule the streets. Yet within this hardscrabble sprawl, cultures intermix, secrets are traded like coin, and no small number of underworld alliances are born. Norchapel remains a crucible of hardship and resistance—a place where the city's forgotten cling to life on the margins of power and wealth.

Norland

Norland, a frigid and rugged isle within the Moonshae archipelago, rises defiantly from the Sea of Swords, its terrain dominated by the soaring South Jotunhammer Mountains and windswept pine forests. The island’s people—stout Northlanders descended from Ruathym raiders—cling fiercely to a maritime warrior tradition, upheld in the island's lone settlement, Rogarsheim. Here, Jarl Rault leads with a blend of wisdom and unyielding resolve, maintaining unity among Northlanders, dwarves from mountain holds, and pockets of Ffolk settlers. Legends of giants stirring in the mountains and the ghostly howls of ancient sea-spirits haunt the isle's folklore. In 1479 DR, the Storm Maiden arose as a semi-divine avatar of Norland’s indomitable spirit, further entwining religion and identity. Life on Norland is a constant struggle against icy seas, predatory beasts, and the bitter winds that sweep in from the north—but it is also a place of pride, resilience, and ancestral strength.

North Ward

The North Ward of Waterdeep is a district of manicured elegance and genteel pretense, home to minor nobles, retired adventurers, and merchant elites seeking prestige without the political entanglements of Sea or Castle Wards. Stately townhouses with wrought iron gates and flowering courtyards line its cobbled lanes, particularly along Delzorin Street and Lamp Street. While known for its quietude and respectable airs, the ward hums with veiled intrigue. Social salons double as informal courts of gossip and manipulation, and many mansions conceal secret cellars, arcane wards, or hidden doors to the Undermountain or deeper smuggling routes. The proximity to the City of the Dead and old noble crypts lends a subtle air of ghost stories and necromantic paranoia. Polite society thrives here, but beneath the lace and etiquette lies a lattice of silent alliances, veiled duels, and whispered vendettas that shape the fates of both coin and name.

Northbank

Northbank, the historical heart of Silverymoon, unfurls in a graceful arc along the north shore of the Rauvin River, cradled within elegant, half-circle walls pierced by the Moorgate, Hunter’s Gate, and Sundabar Gate. Founded around the fabled Moonsilver Inn in 447 DR, Northbank gave birth to Silverymoon itself, evolving from a frontier gathering place into a city of learning, culture, and magic. Its central Market Street cuts from Hunter’s Gate to the river’s Docks, teeming with vendors, artisans, and musicians, while the eastern district boasts the High Palace, stately noble villas, and radiant temples devoted to deities such as Mystra and Sehanine Moonbow. In the west, cobbled lanes lead to the Golden Oak Inn, wrapped around its namesake tree, a gathering place for travelers and locals alike. Beneath the flagstones runs a hidden stream-fed sewer system, a quiet testament to the city's thoughtful design. Northbank remains a vibrant blend of heritage, arcane prestige, and civic pride.

Northdark Wood

The Northdark Wood—also called Dusk Wood or Reluvethel’s Wood—is a brooding expanse nested within the Reaching Woods of the Western Heartlands, its name a source of confusion with the Underdark's Northdark region far to the north. This forest, though aboveground, feels ancient and veiled, its towering oaks and maples cloaking glades where sunlight fades to twilight even at noon. The River Reaching winds through the heart of the woodland, carving a gleaming path from Hill’s Edge to the Chionthar. The forest whispers of arcane echoes and faded wars, and deep within its borders lies the Walking Tower of Alomystia, a relic of forgotten might, standing immobile and vine-choked amidst root-cluttered clearings. Druids, fey, and quiet guardians tend the wood's balance, though intrusions by bandits and relic-seekers persist. Those who enter the Northdark Wood seeking treasure often find older, stranger truths waiting among the moss-laced stones and quiet pools.

Obsidian Cinderfalls

The Obsidian Cinderfalls stretch across a brutal volcanic plateau on the outskirts of Phlegethos, where rivers of molten obsidian surge from charred fissures and plunge into roaring pits of fire. These cascades perpetually boil and re-harden, only to shatter under their own weight, releasing storms of razor-edged black glass that scour the land below. The ground is slick, fractured, and treacherous—each step a trial by pain. Abyssal Tieflings, bound by infernal tradition or condemned by cruel decree, are forced to undergo rites of passage here, traversing the lethal terrain barefoot while their cries echo against the obsidian cliffs. Diabolical engineers from the courts of Fierna and Belial frequent the site to trial infernal siege constructs, their machines judged not only by their might, but by their endurance in the hellish heat. Harvested shards, cooled and tempered in agony, are prized as cores for cursed blades and infernal ammunition—each piece steeped in torment and fire.

Old Shanatar

Old Shanatar sprawls beneath the western reaches of Faerûn, a vast subterranean dominion once claimed by the ancient dwarves of the Deep Realms. Once a beacon of dwarven unity, Old Shanatar was ruled by eight kingdoms—each founded by a clan of the shield dwarves—until internal strife and relentless Underdark threats fractured its might. Now, its endless halls lie in eerie quiet, carved with fading murals and runes that whisper of Moradin’s glory and the battles of ancient kings. Crumbling strongholds and labyrinthine mines descend into darkness, echoing with the clatter of lurking horrors. Adventurers and Underdark denizens alike scour its depths for relics—mythril-forged weapons, lost heirlooms, and the legendary Axe of the Dwarvish Lords. Yet, dangers abound: drow scouts, duergar outposts, mind flayer incursions, and the occasional awakening of dwarven-crafted constructs that no longer recognize friend from foe. Old Shanatar is both tomb and treasure.

Oman's Isle

Oman's Isle, a rugged, triangular landmass within the Moonshae Isles, presents a stark tableau of contrasting terrains. The eastern edge is cloaked in the ancient, gnarled trees of the Old Stone Wood, while the southern expanse rises into the formidable Grampalt Highlands. To the north, the steel-grey waters of Iron Bay carve a deep inlet. Once home to firbolgs and dwarves, this isle bears the lingering imprint of the imprisoned giant demigod, Grond Peaksmasher, whose icy tomb, the Icepeak, pierces the sky. Scattered settlements—Iron Keep, Lillemaren, Skien, Trondhelm, and Ramshorn—cling to the land, offering refuge amidst the wild. The Cairn of Thelgaar Ironhand, a monument to a legendary dwarf, and the mystical Oman Moonwell stand as testaments to the isle's storied past, marked by fomorian invasions and Amnian occupation, and the pivotal fusion of Norl and Illuskan cultures.

One Stone

One Stone, nestled deep within the Moonwood of the Silver Marches, is a sacred ancestor mound of the Golden Eagle, Red Pony, and Sky Pony Uthgardt tribes. Unlike typical cairns with altar mounds, this site centers on a colossal, solitary boulder. This stone, a rough sphere roughly 20 feet in diameter and 12 feet high, dominates the clearing, its surface intricately etched with precise, swirling tracery that seems to shift and writhe in the dappled moonlight. Rings of weathered stones encircle the monolith, marking the boundaries of ritual space. Scattered offerings, faded feathers, and small, carved wooden totems lie nestled amongst the cairn stones, hinting at the generations of reverence paid here. The air hums with a palpable, ancient energy, a testament to the powerful spirits believed to reside within the stone and the surrounding woods.

Ordulin

Ordulin, heart of Sembia, has risen from the planar catastrophe of 1374 DR with defiant grandeur. Once a shattered capital left trembling by magical upheaval, it now thrives as a symbol of Sembian tenacity and ambition. Reconstructed atop its wounded foundations, the city blends sharp mercantile acumen with arcane fortification. The Guard of Ordulin—reborn from the disciplined corps once led by the renowned Captain Raithspur—now patrols streets lined with merchant palaces and restored guildhalls. At its center, the Sembian Mint, sheathed in protective enchantments and flanked by stone golems, houses the nation’s coinage and secrets alike. The Great Hall of the Council resounds with the deliberations of the Council of Sembia, heirs to the merchant-lord legacy of Rauthauvyr the Raven, who long ago forged the idea of the Overmaster. Though prosperous once more, Ordulin remains haunted by planar echoes, the scars of past magic never fully fading beneath polished stone.

Ormath

Ormath stands as a hard-edged sentinel on the southeastern edge of the Shining Plains, where rolling grasslands yield to cobbled streets and tension hangs as thick as the dust. Known for its frequent feuds with nearby neighbors like Reth and Lheshayl, the city thrives on skirmish and counter-strike, its citizenry hardened by generations of martial tradition and distrust. Merchants and mercenaries converge at the junction of the Pikemen’s Folly and the northern trade road, where commerce often travels under the shadow of drawn steel. Rising grim and resolute above the slate rooftops is the Tower of Skulls, an austere abbey of Kelemvor where the dead are judged and interred with unwavering fairness. Within its fortified walls, monks and battle-priests speak softly of balance and consequence, their faith offering stark reflection amid Ormath’s volatile soul. Strategic and spiritual, the city endures—equal parts blade, coin, and grave.

Orsraun Mountains

The Orsraun Mountains, a formidable range south of the Spine of the World, form the rugged northwestern border of Turmish. Jagged peaks pierce the sky, their slopes descending into the verdant Gulthmere Forest to the north, the shimmering Vilhon Reach to the south, and the expansive Shining Plains to the west. The Halondar River carves a deep valley, cleaving the Orsrauns from the neighboring Aphrunn Mountains. Notably, the northeastern arm, the Mountains of the Alaoreum, stands distinct, isolated by the treacherous Treefall Pass. This region, a realm of perilous beauty, harbors the towering Mount Andrus and the infamous, labyrinthine depths of Ironfang Deep, a place whispered to hold both ancient treasures and unspeakable horrors. The entire range is a tapestry of stone and shadow, a haven for hardy mountain folk and the lairs of formidable creatures, a wild, untamed barrier between realms.

Ossiea, Glasya's Fortress-Palace

Ossiea rises like a blasphemous shrine from the blasted wastes of Malbolge, a fortress-palace sculpted from the immense skull of the fallen Hag Countess, Malagard. Her cranium, fused to the corrupted rock by infernal fire, serves as throne and throne room alike—its hollowed chambers now vaulted halls lined with the bones of countless damned souls. Each rib, femur, and spine embedded in the structure thrums with lingering torment, etched with infernal sigils of dominion and agony. The surrounding grounds are choked with toxic flora—razorleaf brambles and bleeding orchids—whose cloying, venomous perfume saturates the air. Inside, Ossiea pulses with an eerie harmony: whispers, moans, and distorted lullabies drift along its corridors, a cruel symphony composed by unseen fiends. Despite its horror, a terrible elegance pervades the place; Ossiea is a palace of deathly beauty, a place of dread reverence among devils and those who would traffic with the bones of fallen power.

Outer City

The Outer City of Baldur’s Gate sprawls in all directions beyond the city’s mighty walls, a patchwork of ramshackle dwellings, winding alleys, and open-air markets born of necessity rather than design. It is a land of constant flux, where tents rise and fall with the tides of fortune, and mud-caked paths become trade arteries for the desperate and enterprising alike. Refugees, outlanders, and laborers crowd its quarters, many barred from the inner city by guild restrictions or civic disdain. Merchants hawk wares too volatile, illicit, or unsavory for the Lower City’s regulated stalls—alchemical powders, forbidden relics, stolen cargo. With no official Watch presence, order is kept by gang muscle, merchant pacts, or sheer reputation. Violence, while not constant, is never far, flaring over debts, turf, or honor. And yet, in this grit and disorder, life thrives—a raw, unfiltered pulse of a city outgrowing its bounds, where survival is the truest currency.

Passage to the Underdark

The Passage to the Underdark marks the threshold between the surface world and the endless, perilous depths below—a descent not just into stone, but into strangeness. This twisting labyrinth of tunnels and caverns serves as one of the many veiled entrances to the Underdark, the vast subterranean realm that stretches beneath Faerûn. Here, the last traces of sunlight are swallowed by damp rock and a cloying darkness pierced only by the dim, flickering glow of bioluminescent fungi. Their pale light outlines slick walls, jagged overhangs, and sudden drops, creating a dreamlike yet threatening landscape. Moisture drips constantly, pooling in crevices or running in shallow rivulets across the uneven stone. The air is thick, humid, and pungent with earthy rot and alien growths. Faint echoes—sometimes of water, sometimes not—make every step feel watched. Many paths lead deeper, some into drow territory, others toward lost dwarven delves or the domains of aberrations. Each step is a gamble.

Petrified Garden of Lolth's Abandoned Webs

The Petrified Garden of Lolth’s Abandoned Webs festers within a broken hollow of Malbolge, where infernal corruption has warped even the Spider Queen’s touch. Once a place of divine artistry, the webbed constructs—intricately spun by Lolth’s own will—are now fossilized strands of agony, stretched across a blasted expanse of blackened stone. Each strand shimmers with a venomous violet glow and pulses faintly, containing within its crystalline embrace the twisted souls of drow and driders deemed unworthy of her favor. These petrified souls whisper endlessly, their faint, tortured voices carried on the lifeless wind, a choir of despair echoing through the silence. The air is heavy, almost drinkable in its decay, tasting of mold, iron, and sorrow. Calcified husks dot the ashen soil, relics of Lolth’s failed experiments or abandoned acolytes. One cannot help but feel watched by something vast and unseen, as if the goddess herself remembers this place… and resents the memory.

Phlegethos

Phlegethos, the Fourth Layer of the Nine Hells, is a churning hellscape of volcanic devastation—an endless realm of lava rivers, geysering magma, and scorched obsidian plains. Governed in uneasy tandem by Belial and his daughter Fierna, it serves as Baator's judicial crucible, where punishment is both spectacle and principle. Fire is omnipresent and sentient, judging the worth of souls and igniting only those it deems unworthy; native devils and sanctioned travelers are spared its wrath. The Pit of Flame stands as the layer’s cruel court, where sinners are cast and slowly reduced to ash while their crimes are etched in living fire. The city of Abriymoch, carved into a vast caldera, thrums with infernal bureaucracy and smoldering intrigue. Spinagon devils toil amid fuming refineries and molten forges, while barbed hamatulas enforce order. Rich in infernal minerals and arcane heat, Phlegethos pulses with power and peril, a realm where law burns hot and ambition burns hotter.

Pisaethces' Bog

Pisaethces, the Blood Queen, presides over a nightmarish domain of rot and ruin—an unholy bog steeped in clotted ichor and psychic malevolence. Her realm, deep within the Far Realm or brushed against alien planes, is a festering mire where noxious pools churn with her sentient, crimson mucus. This gelatinous fluid pulses with a sickly rhythm, absorbing thoughts, dreams, and the flesh of those who stray too close. Grotesquely twisted trees rise like skeletal limbs, their bark slick with gore and draped in the torn remnants of devoured prey. The moaning winds carry whispers in forgotten tongues, while the ever-present blood-haze filters the world into a feverish smear of red and shadow. Pisaethces, mother of aboleths, broods within the largest, gloomiest pool, her immense, eyeless form both godlike and obscene. Her presence infects the mind as much as the body, and those who remain too long find their will, shape, and memories melting into the mire.

Pit of Flame

At the blazing heart of Phlegethos lies the Pit of Flame—a mile-wide cauldron of seething, reeking filth that belches columns of blinding white hellfire into the blackened sky. Unlike ordinary flame, this infernal blaze scalds soul and memory as much as flesh, inflicting torment so precise and agonizing that even devils scream beneath its touch. The Pit serves as both punishment and passage, a place where infernal ranks are solidified or sundered. Iron cages hang in concentric rings above the molten mire, each swinging gently in the heated drafts, holding devils undergoing torment for failure, insubordination, or at times, their own volition. For some, the pain is a crucible of ambition, a purifying flame endured to court favor from Belial or Fierna, or to transform themselves through suffering. The lake’s effluvium boils constantly, releasing nauseating vapors and hissing steam that flay the will. The Pit is not just punishment—it is ritual, currency, and control.

Plain of Standing Stones

The Plain of Standing Stones lies at the desolate heart of Anauroch, stretched taut between the icy teeth of the High Ice and the searing dunes of the Sword. Unlike the shifting sands that characterize much of the desert, this vast region is a jagged, wind-scoured plateau of gravel, cracked rock, and stubborn crags. It is a land of silence and screaming gales, haunted by the howls of storms and the cries of distant beasts. At its center looms the Pillar of Tauros, a crooked monolith of stone revered by dragons as a sacred dueling ground where ancient nesting rights are decided in fire and blood. Amidst this harshness lie a few strange oases: Aerithae’s Rest, a green ribbon of life clinging to a wind-shadowed ravine; the Dark Bones Rift, a yawning chasm that murmurs with eldritch wind; and the River of Gems, a seasonal wash that glitters with strange mineral shards. This unforgiving expanse is as deadly as it is awe-inspiring, shaped by time, dragons, and relentless wind.

Priapurl

Nestled along the well-worn Trader's Road, Priapurl presents a tranquil facade, belying its peculiar inhabitants and turbulent past. Dominated by the imposing Mindulgulph Castle, perched atop a craggy hill and home to the monstrous Mindulgulph Mercenary Company, the town's atmosphere is an odd mix of rustic charm and lurking menace. The sleepy village centers around a modest tavern, the only real hub of activity, while the absent ruler, Tar Hurara, a human with lofty noble aspirations, leaves the town largely to its own devices. Despite its quiet demeanor, Priapurl bears the scars of a past orc siege, a testament to the mercenary company's brutal effectiveness. The blend of everyday life and lurking danger creates a unique, if unsettling, tableau for any traveler passing through.

Prismeer

Prismeer, a once-whole domain of vivid enchantment within the Feywild, now lies fractured into three distinct regions—Hither, Thither, and Yon—each reflecting splintered facets of its absent ruler, Zybilna. Her magic, once cohesive and luminous, now trembles across the land in broken spells and forgotten dreams. Hither’s swamps lurch with muck and trickery, Thither’s forests stir with memory and illusion, and Yon’s storm-churned crags echo with sorrow and song. Prismeer, like the Feywild itself, is unbound by logic—its skies shimmer with ever-shifting light, and its rivers flow backward or vanish into dreams. Time moves erratically, emotions shape terrain, and beauty often masks danger. Fey beings, eladrin wanderers, and strange spirits populate its mist-draped paths, driven by quests, bargains, or whim. Every step through Prismeer risks enchantment or transformation, yet it remains one of the Feywild’s most compelling realms—a place of yearning, splendor, and unraveling wonder.

Proskur

Proskur, perched strategically where the Overmoor Trail, Winding Road, and High Road converge, thrives as a volatile crossroads on the Dragon Coast. This trade city hums with the din of bartering merchants, creaking carts, and whispered deals—both above and below the table. Governed by a merchant council with roots in reformed criminal enterprise, Proskur maintains a thin veneer of order atop a foundation of subterfuge. Its infamous thieves’ guilds, notably those seeded by the cunning Tikaru Matsu, still manipulate commerce and information beneath the surface, ensuring that even honest trade is never truly clean. Looming over the city’s ambitions is the Thayan Enclave—red-robed emissaries dealing in dark magic, slavery, and arcane goods—its presence both a boon and a threat. The architecture mirrors the city’s divided soul: plain stone facades hide concealed trapdoors, secret vaults, and bolt-holes. In Proskur, fortunes are made quickly—often at someone else’s expense.

Purskul

Purskul, once a shining hub along Amn’s Esmel River, now bears the somber weight of recent tragedy. Long a center of bustling trade and river commerce, the city thrived at the crossroads of vital trade routes, its wide streets and merchant halls echoing with prosperity. Yet that vibrancy has dimmed; a virulent plague has ravaged the city, decimating its population and transforming its famed market square into a site of grim necessity, where a towering bonfire burns day and night to consume the dead. Despite this, life endures. The half-orc community, descendants of orcs once enslaved in Amn’s armies, remain prominent in Purskul’s labor and defense sectors. On a rise overlooking the city stands the somber monolith of the Dark Moon monks—followers of Shar who value secrecy and discipline. In contrast, the verdant temple of Chauntea offers succor and hope, its gardens tended with reverence. Purskul now straddles a fragile line between resilience and ruin, commerce and sorrow.

Raven Rock

Raven Rock rises solemn and wind-swept amid the frozen peaks of the Spine of the World, a sacred Uthgardt ancestor mound revered by both the Black Raven and Gray Wolf tribes. At its heart stands a massive, 100-foot stone effigy of a raven with wings spread wide, carved with eerie precision and blackened by age and storm. Beneath it lies a vast wolf-shaped depression encircling a moon-phase altar—used in rites to mark seasons, omens, and tribal unity. Scattered around the plateau, ancient menhirs form a primitive calendar, aligning with the stars and sun in silent testimony to the wisdom of those long past. Burial cairns and snow-crusted barrows conceal the honored dead, one of which holds a hidden chamber containing the bone of a beast so massive its nature defies easy understanding. Ten fierce Black Raven barbarians and ten trained giant ravens guard the site ceaselessly, warding off intruders and preserving the spiritual sanctity.

Reghed Glacier

The Reghed Glacier, a frigid expanse north of the Spine of the World, presents a desolate tableau of icy wastes, rarely traversed except along its eastern fringe. This hazardous region, namesake to the hardy Reghedman barbarians of Icewind Dale, is distinct from the more distant Great Glacier of Pelvuria, home to the Ulutiun tribes. Its stark, wind-scoured surface stretches under a perpetual pall of grey skies, broken only by jagged peaks and treacherous crevasses. The air bites with a bone-chilling cold, and survival here demands resilience and cunning. Scattered remnants of ancient structures, half-buried in the ice, hint at forgotten civilizations, while the occasional howl of a winter wolf or the eerie silence of a snowdrift underscores the glacier's unforgiving nature. This frozen realm tests the limits of any who dare to venture into its heart, a place where only the strongest survive.

Retreat of the Fallen

Druaga’s realm is swallowed entirely by his immense, blasphemous palace—an infernal sprawl of shadow and steel, leaving no space for wilderness or sky. The very ground rises into its foundations, a seamless meld of scorched obsidian and blood-rusted iron. Towering spires stab the murky heavens, their tips wreathed in flame or shrouded in arcane smoke. Every wall thrums with foul purpose, engraved with contracts and wards designed to summon and bind legions of baatezu. Shadow-choked courtyards echo with whispered bargains and the guttural speech of devils, while endless corridors twist like the coils of a great serpent, concealing ritual chambers, soul-forges, and forbidden libraries. The palace itself pulses like a living creature, its corridors shifting subtly to confound the uninvited. The air crackles with infernal power, oppressive and sharp, a constant reminder of Druaga's control. Here, devils do not merely gather—they await orders from a god of ambition and corruption incarnate.

Riatavin

Riatavin, a sprawling city nestled within Tethyr, bears the marks of its tumultuous past, having seceded from Amn in 1370 DR. Its bustling streets, home to 85,650, weave through a landscape marked by both opulent merchant houses and shadowed alleyways. The Chosen Council, a cabal of powerful traders, governs the city, their influence felt in every corner. Yet, beneath the veneer of prosperity lurks a potent criminal underworld, dominated by the insidious Shadow Thieves, their tendrils reaching into every level of society. The city's history is stained with controversy, notably the disappearance of the Herald Thorn Tree before the Bloodsong, an event that still whispers through the taverns and backstreets. The architecture, a blend of Amnian grandeur and Tethyrian practicality, reflects the city's complex identity, with grand market squares juxtaposed against the dark, secretive enclaves of the criminal element. It is a city of sharp contrasts, where wealth and danger walk hand in hand.

River Dessarin

The River Dessarin—also called the Sword and the Road to the North—is one of the great rivers of the Savage Frontier, flowing from the highland cascades of the Lost Peaks all the way to the Sea of Swords, just south of Waterdeep. Cold, deep, and wide, the Dessarin has long served as a natural artery of commerce, culture, and conflict. Its swift current carries barges and boats from Yartar and Bargewright Inn down through the heart of the Dessarin Valley, connecting with major tributaries such as the Rauvin, Surbrin, and Laughingflow. The river passes through contested frontierlands, verdant farmlands, and ancient ruins alike. Numerous settlements—some thriving, others long fallen—dot its banks. The Dessarin Valley is steeped in history: from Netherese remnants to Dwarven strongholds and elemental cults. Its waters are famed for silver shalass fish, and its fords and bridges serve as strategic chokepoints in times of war. It remains one of the North’s most vital and storied rivers.

River Surbrin

The River Surbrin is a mighty, fast-flowing river that carves a path through the rugged heart of the North. It originates in the glacial meltwaters of the Endless Ice Sea and the frozen peaks of the Spine of the World, cascading southward through stone-strewn valleys until it merges with the River Dessarin. Along its course, the Surbrin is joined by the Rauvin, the Goblintide, the Laughingflow, and the Horn Stream, making it one of the most formidable waterways in the Savage Frontier. The surrounding Surbrin Valley is a land of stark beauty and strategic importance—bordered by the Moonwood to the east and the Frost Hills to the west, and encompassing the territory of the former Kingdom of Many-Arrows by 1371 DR. Dwarves of Mithral Hall, Riders of Nesmé, and scattered human and elven settlements all depend on its icy flow for survival, though the river is often treacherous and difficult to cross due to its fierce current and rocky bed.

River of Scorched Memories

The River of Scorched Memories: A tributary of the Lethe, its waters blackened and steaming, carrying the scorched memories of souls deemed too dangerous to forget entirely. This river winds through the deepest chasms, its banks lined with the charred remnants of past lives, each a testament to the sins that condemned them. Amnizu patrol the river, ensuring no memory escapes its infernal flow. The waters themselves shimmer with an oily sheen, reflecting distorted images of the past, each a fragment of a life consumed by sin. The scorched memories drift along the river's current, whispering tales of betrayal, violence, and despair. The air around the river crackles with the residual energy of forgotten horrors, a constant reminder of the price of transgression. The river's flow is slow and deliberate, a relentless journey into the depths of eternal damnation.

River of Scorched Tears

The River of Scorched Tears winds like a molten vein through Phlegethos, its origin the eternally weeping eyes of a petrified demon, half-buried in obsidian and fused to a volcanic cliffside. From these lifeless sockets flow tears of liquid agony—molten, unholy fluid said to embody the total suffering endured in Phlegethos. The river glows with a furious, radiant heat that sizzles the very air, its banks littered with the charred husks of devils and mortals who misjudged its wrath. Yet the molten tears are more than torment—they possess potent infernal magic, capable of mending the wounds of devils and fortifying dark pacts when properly harvested. The river is a coveted fuel source for infernal war machines, its essence driving siege engines and demonic forges alike. Pit Fiends patrol the river relentlessly, ensuring its sacred torment remains untapped by mortal hands. To gaze upon it is to feel despair; to approach it unbidden is to risk immolation by sorrow made flame.

Rivington

Rivington, Baldur's Gate's southern outpost, clings to the Chionthar's edge, a stark contrast to the city's opulent heart. South of Wyrm's Crossing, this district, accessible via the Trade Way, pulses with illicit trade, its river access a smuggler's haven. The once-dominant Rivington Rats, though faded, left their mark, and whispers of their exploits still linger. The Rivington General, a source of arms, stands amidst the ramshackle buildings, while the grim Rivington Well, a site of refugee tragedy, casts a pall over the area. A requisitioned barn, now a refugee donation storehouse, marks the southern entry, a testament to the district's hardship. The river, a lifeline for trade, also serves as a conduit for smuggled goods to Brampton, bypassing the city's watchful eye. This rough-hewn district, a blend of commerce and desperation, teems with life on the fringe of Baldur's Gate, its strategic location making it a vital, if volatile, hub.

Rogarsheim

Rogarsheim, the rugged heart of Norland, clings to the wind-battered bay of the Sea of Moonshae, its docks creaking with constant activity. As Norland’s capital and largest port, it serves as a crossroads for cultures and ambitions. Northlanders, Ffolk, and dwarves jostle for space in narrow streets hemmed by longhouses, stone forges, and salt-stained taverns. Towering over the city stands Stormbanner Hold, the fortress-home of Jarl Rault “the Wise,” whose authority wavers amid rising Northlander unrest and the fading shadow of the High King’s influence. Rogarsheim is known for its fishing fleets, mineral wealth drawn from the South Jotunhammers, and a growing network of trade that even entices curious Fey from Gwynneth. Despite its stormy politics and weather, the city remains the island’s pulse—its many past names reflecting eras of conquest, peace, and rebellion. To most outsiders, Rogarsheim is Norland: fierce, diverse, and always watching the horizon for what comes next.

Ruathym

Ruathym, a windswept island kingdom in the Trackless Sea, presents a harsh landscape of barren terrain punctuated by scattered steadings and villages clinging to its fjords. The capital city, Ruathym, a hub of five thousand souls, lies south of Holgerstead, near the enigmatic ruins of Inthar, a site of potent rune magic and past conflicts. Notable landmarks include the Hall of Black Waves, a temple to Umberlee once led by the tribal shaman Uther Jeroggean, and the austere Trelleborg barracks, a haven for solitary men. The city bears the scars of recent turmoil, including investigations into mysterious disappearances and the Kraken Society’s insidious influence, marked by Dagmar's betrayal. The island's rugged coast harbors seafarers like Hrolf the Unruly, and its history is entwined with a bitter feud against the folk of Luskan.

Ruathym City

Ruathym, a rugged coastal city on its namesake isle in the Trackless Sea, stands as a testament to resilience amidst constant strife. Stone structures, weathered by sea spray and time, cling to the rocky terrain, a stark contrast to the lush, wild interior of the island. The city's harbor bristles with longships and fishing vessels. Ruins of ancient Inthar, loom nearby, whispering of past conflicts and arcane secrets. The city bears the scars of Luskan's invasions, yet its people, descendants of hardy sailors and rune-wielding shamans, persevere. Among them, tales of Ulf the Shaman, his treacherous daughter Dagmar, and the drow savior Liriel Baenre echo through the taverns and market squares. Legends of hamfriggan shapeshifters and potent rune magic weave through the city's fabric, promising both peril and power. The island, rich in history, holds the remnants of Haunghdannar, a dwarven fortress from ages past, now a silent sentinel overlooking the turbulent sea.

Ruins of Karse

Deep within the High Forest, nestled at the base of a crimson butte, lie the Ruins of Karse, a haunting testament to hubris and betrayal. Founded by the zealous Cult of Karsus in the wake of their master's catastrophic folly, this once-proud city was swiftly consumed by internal strife, orchestrated by the malevolent lich Wulgreth of Netheril, just a decade after its creation. Now, overgrown with dark, gnarled trees, the ruins harbor a sinister secret: the Black Glade, a ring of thirteen colossal dire oaks, marks the epicenter of this cursed place. Amidst the decay, whispers of the Heart and Mind of Karsus echo, keys to both the Green King's rise and fall, while the dread Karsestone, Wulgreth's phylactery, pulses with necrotic energy. Adventurers brave enough to venture into these shadowed ruins find themselves entangled in a struggle against the Green King's minions, seeking to control the remnants of Karsus's power, and confront the lingering dread of Netheril's dark magic.

Saerloon

Saerloon rises above its namesake bay in a flourish of spires, gargoyles, and sweeping archways, its Chondathan gothic architecture casting long shadows over crowded streets. A city of opulence and duplicity, Saerloon thrives as a commercial hub, its bustling North Market centered around the statue of Old Saer, the city’s founder, while the chaotic Dolphin Market hums with louder voices and quicker hands. Towering temples to Mystra and Azuth draw arcane scholars and ambitious mages, their domes aglow with blue firelight. A heavily guarded, ill-regarded Thayan enclave festers beneath wary eyes, its presence tolerated but never welcomed. Beyond the ancient walls, inns and alehouses multiply to meet the demands of Saerloon’s ever-swelling trade. Beneath the surface, the Stringpullers’ Guild exerts quiet control, manipulating politics and coin with invisible fingers, while thieves' guilds skulk in alleyways. In the Northside slums, the crumbling Dowagers offer shelter at a dangerous price.

Scornubel

Scornubel, the Caravan City, sprawls in organized chaos along the northern bank of the River Chionthar, where the Trade Way meets the water. A vital artery for land and river commerce, it serves as the beating heart of trade between the Western Heartlands and the interior. During the height of the trading season, its population swells from a few thousand to nearly fifty thousand, as caravans, traders, drovers, and riverfolk descend upon its bustling markets and ever-changing tent cities. Narrowboats and barges crowd the docks, ferrying goods to and from Baldur’s Gate, Berdusk, and Hills Edge. The city pulses with constant motion: carts creak under exotic wares, livestock bleat through the muddy streets, and merchants shout over the roar of commerce. Scornubel has no walls, yet it is fiercely self-reliant, governed by merchant consortiums and guilds who thrive in its rough-edged dynamism. Here, gold speaks louder than bloodlines, and the river flows not just with water.

Sea Ward

Sea Ward, the Crown of the North's jewel, sprawls across Waterdeep's northwest, a bastion of opulence defined by the Trollwall's stark boundary and the bustling Julthoon and Shield Streets. Here, noble mansions stand as testaments to wealth, while gleaming temples and arcane towers pierce the sky, home to the city's most powerful clerics and mages. The Field of Triumph, a place of historical grandeur, echoes with past victories, and the tranquil Heroes' Garden offers a serene respite amid the urban sprawl. Sea's Edge Beach, where the city meets the ocean, adds a shimmering, maritime charm, making this ward not just a center of power but also a place of scenic beauty. Within this nexus of influence, artisans, scholars, and adventurers converge, drawn by Waterdeep's allure, making the Sea Ward a vibrant, albeit exclusive, heart of Faerûn.

Sea of Fallen Stars

The Sea of Fallen Stars—often called the Inner Sea—forms the liquid heart of Faerûn, its vast blue expanse threading together east and west, north and south. Bordered by the bustling coasts of Cormyr, Sembia, Chessenta, and Thesk, its waters churn with merchant ships, war galleys, and adventuring vessels whose sails rise and fall with the promise of trade and danger. Beneath the waves lies Serôs, an ancient, submerged realm of aquatic elves, merfolk, tritons, and coral citadels, where magic pulses like tides. Yet not all is peaceful—sahuagin raiders, aboleth cults, and the occasional kraken disturb the watery deep. Massive dragon turtles roam like leviathans, hoarding secrets and crushing trespassers. Scattered islands—Isle of Prespur, Tharsult, and others—dot the sea like glittering jewels, some hosting ports and fortresses, others overgrown ruins and lurking threats. A vital nexus of civilization and mystery, the Sea of Fallen Stars is as essential to Faerûn's lifeblood.

Sea of Moonshae

The Sea of Moonshae churns restlessly between the wild Moonshae Isles and the Sword Coast, its dark waters roiled by relentless winds and sudden tempests. Sailors speak of its fury with reverence, for jagged rocks and veils of sea mist conceal deadly shoals and lurking threats beneath the waves. Its shores beat against Gwynneth, Alaron, Moray, and Norland—rugged islands cloaked in dense forests, windswept moors, and soaring mountain ranges. These lands harbor the stalwart Ffolk, deeply rooted in druidic tradition, and the fierce Northmen, seafaring warriors whose longships raid and settle in equal measure. The clash of their cultures echoes across the sea in song, steel, and storm. Hidden groves sacred to the Earthmother lie tucked amid the trees, while craggy coves and lonely beaches offer refuge—or ambush. Whether in search of trade, conquest, or ancient secrets, those who cross the Sea of Moonshae must contend with nature’s wrath and the unpredictable will of its island peoples.

Sea of Moving Ice

The Sea of Moving Ice sprawls west of Icewind Dale, a frigid, ever-shifting wilderness of towering icebergs, frost-rimed isles, and bone-chilling winds. This perilous expanse is a frozen labyrinth where navigation is a gamble and maps are rendered obsolete with each shifting floe. Feared by the Reghedmen and shunned by most mariners, the sea teems with hardy life. Beneath the surface, schools of cod dart between ice caverns, while above, white dragons glide silently through blizzards in search of prey. Among the floes dwell ice trolls, frost giants, and reclusive Northlanders who have adapted to its brutal conditions. Ancient shipwrecks, frozen in time, lie embedded in the ice, hiding relics of old wars and strange treasures such as sharkskin and coral plate armor. Some speak in hushed tones of the Bolt of Sekolah’s Fire—a rare, potent artifact found only in these icy waters. In this realm of creaking ice and silver mist, only the bold—or the desperate—dare sail.

Sea of Swords

The Sea of Swords roils ceaselessly off Faerûn’s western coast, a vast arm of the Trackless Sea whose tempestuous waters both enrich and endanger the Sword Coast’s cities. Stretching westward from the ports of Baldur’s Gate, Waterdeep, and Neverwinter, its boundaries are marked by the Moonshae Isles to the northwest, the pirate-infested Nelanther Isles to the south, and—some say—beyond the Tethyr Peninsula to the remote Purple Cliffs. Sailors speak of its shifting moods: sudden squalls that capsize galleons, fog-shrouded isles that vanish from charts, and monstrous shapes that churn the sea beneath. Trade flourishes despite the danger, for its deep currents bring exotic goods and rare treasures to Faerûn’s bustling harbors. Yet the Sea of Swords holds more than coin—sunken cities lost to time, mythic beasts lurking in abyssal rifts, and magical relics hidden in drowned caverns. To navigate these waters is to walk the blade’s edge, where fortune and ruin ride the same wave.

Sea of Swords (Coastline)

Sea of Swords (North)

Sea of Swords (South)

Seatower

Seatower is one of the most fortified and formidable districts in Baldur’s Gate, standing watch over the Chionthar’s northern shore. Dominated by the hulking Seatower of Balduran, this coastal quarter is the military heart of the city, serving as the main stronghold of the Flaming Fist mercenary company. Linked to the mainland by a narrow, easily-defended causeway, the Seatower functions as barracks, dungeon, naval dock, and fortress. Warships patrol Gray Harbor under its shadow, and its armory is said to rival those of minor kingdoms. Despite its martial core, Seatower hums with life: blacksmiths and weaponsmiths, many from Parliament’s Distinguished Union of Metalworkers, ply their trade under heavy contracts. Soldiers unwind in riotous taverns and smoky festhalls, while merchants hawk goods to adventurers and officers alike. The Candlekeep Chandlery and Hissing Stones Bathhouse add a touch of elegance to this otherwise rugged bastion.

Secomber

Secomber, a hardy border town, perches atop three craggy hills where the Unicorn Run meets the Delimbiyr, marking the edge of the civilized Western Heartlands. Its cobblestone paths wind between stout, human-built homes and cozy halfling dwellings, with a dwarven clan's workshops ringing with the clang of metal. A Lord's Alliance garrison of one hundred soldiers maintains a semblance of order, though the shadow of the treacherous High Moor looms south, and the ruined Uluvin lies north along the Secomber Trail. For years, Urshani hobgoblin raids plagued the town, until the arrival of the 'Baldheads' in 1480 DR. Their leader, Boris, vanquished the hobgoblins, earning him the title of Lord and bringing a newfound, if precarious, peace to the region.

Selgaunt

Selgaunt is a sprawling metropolis on the Sea of Fallen Stars. Once Chancelgaunt, it's now a city of grand castles, ornate temples, and luxurious mansions, all built of imported Yhauntan stone. The Palace of the Hulorn dominates the skyline. Districts like the Foreign Quarter, filled with warehouses and taverns, contrast sharply with the opulent Old Chauncel, surrounding the Hulorn’s palace. The Avenue of the Temples boasts shrines to deities like Milil, Sune, and Lliira, while bustling markets along Mairen Street overflow with exotic goods. The High Bridge over the Arkhen River is a city within a city, with homes and shops lining its length. Selgaunt's waters teem with dolphins and dangerous creatures, and the city itself is a hub of art, music, and high fashion. Ruled by the Hulorn, the city navigates a complex web of politics and trade, exporting luxury items and fine wines while importing food and stone. The city's defenses, the Scepters, patrol its streets and waters.

Sembia

Sembia, carved along the northwestern edge of the Sea of Fallen Stars, is a land where coin is king and ambition shapes every cobblestone. Forged from a loose alliance of merchant cities like Selgaunt, Saerloon, and Yhaunn, Sembia is less a nation and more a pact of profit. Its culture is driven by commerce, from the sharp-tongued financiers of Ordulin to the dockmasters who rule their harbors like nobles. Sembian merchant-princes rival royalty in wealth and influence, often wielding more practical power than nobles of neighboring realms. The country’s merchant fleet is unmatched, its sleek ships a constant presence on the Inner Sea, ensuring dominance in trade and deterrence in conflict. Though technically a member of the Lords’ Alliance, Sembia’s loyalty often sways with its interests. Despite occasional internal rivalries and outside threats, the realm’s focus never wavers: secure the deal, expand the reach, and let gold chart the course.

Serpent Hills

The Serpent Hills rise as a jagged spine of red-clay and scorched stone, east of the High Moor and west of the Delimbiyr Vale, steeped in mystery and scaled menace. These rugged uplands are riddled with narrow ravines, sun-blasted escarpments, and hidden sinkholes that plunge into the shadowed depths of the Upperdark. Among their most infamous features are the ancient Netherese crypts etched into cliff walls and buried in forgotten tunnels—remnants of a time before recorded history. Beneath them lies Reeshov, a grimlock city deep in the Underdark, steeped in darkness and madness. Yuan-ti malisons and abominations slither through ruins and jungle-shrouded paths, guided by the will of the fabled King of Snakes—an elusive figure of whispered legend. Naga sentinels and lizardfolk warbands stalk intruders, guarding relics best left buried. To adventurers, the Serpent Hills offer peril, power, and a whisper of ancient secrets too potent to resist.

Set's Realm

Set's Realm within Avernus is a bleak and malevolent dominion, claimed by the serpent god of darkness, Set. A forsaken stretch of infernal wasteland, the terrain is a churning sea of blistering sand dunes and jagged obsidian spires that jut like fangs from the scorched earth. The wind moans with a hollow, whispering hiss, echoing ancient blasphemies in an unknown tongue. Here, the sky is a writhing canopy of black and bruised crimson, split often by flashes of red lightning that reveal lurking serpentine forms slithering between the rocks. Vestiges of forgotten temples, buried beneath the sands, occasionally claw into view—twisted monuments of Set’s long-dead mortal cults. Within this realm, reality is unstable, warped by dark divinity and infernal energies. Fiendish serpents, cursed jackal-fiends, and shadowy avatars of Set himself are said to roam freely, preying upon both mortal intruders and rival devils alike.

Settlestone

Settlestone lies windswept and resolute on the southern slopes of Fourthpeak, one of the icy titans of the Spine of the World. Once the proud dwarven hold of Dwarvendarrow, it was shattered in a fierce clash against drow, goblins, and kobolds. What remains—stone foundations and sundered arches—has since been claimed by the barbarians of Icewind Dale. Now, Settlestone endures as a place of primal tenacity, its people hardened by mountain cold and ancient grief. The nearby dwarven fortress of Mithral Hall looms as both protector and relic, its deep halls echoing with the industry of Bruenor Battlehammer's kin. Central to village life is Hengorot, the vast mead hall where the Tribe of the Elk feasts, mourns, and rallies. Timber-framed and iron-banded, it shelters hundreds against the blizzards that howl down the slopes. In Settlestone, the clash of dwarven legacy and barbarian survival shapes a culture both weathered and fierce.

Shadow Swamp

The Shadow Swamp festers as a nightmarish echo of the Vast Swamp, twisted by fell energies and rooted within the Shadowfell. Here, perpetual twilight smothers the land, casting a dim, gray pallor over gnarled cypress and stagnant pools. The swamp reeks of decay—its waters sluggish with black mire and clotted detritus, its air thick with the scent of mold and old blood. Shadows twist unnaturally, whispering half-formed thoughts and luring intruders astray. At its heart looms the Shadow Citadel, a warped reflection of a forgotten fortress, its obsidian spires crumbling yet alive with necrotic will. The Black Rift—an abyssal wound in the marsh—seeps pure darkness, drawing in both essence and sanity. Undead things stir in the muck, and cloaked wraiths glide between gnarled roots. The swamp is a cradle of secrets and sorrow, where time slips sideways and the dead never truly rest. Few who wander in return unchanged—if they return at all.

Sheyruushk

Sheyruushk, the dread realm of Sekolah the Great Shark, lies entombed in the crushing, icy blackness beneath Stygia’s frozen sea. Accessible only through a rift between two glacial titans near Tantlin, this abyssal kingdom sprawls miles below the surface, hidden beneath layers of jagged ice and soul-numbing water. In this realm, light is devoured, and only the glow of bioluminescent horrors and distant, pulsing runes reveals the cyclopean architecture of drowned temples and bone-laced fortresses. Fiendish sahuagin patrol the gloom in swarms, blood-bound to Sekolah's hunger and fury. Here, the shark god reigns supreme, a divine predator whose silent presence grips the hearts of even the fiercest devils. Sheyruushk is not merely a prison of water—it is a crucible of dominance, where the law of survival is etched in coral, fang, and sacrifice. It pulses with the primal call of the abyss, a realm where the cold is eternal and the chase never ends.

Shilmista Forest

Shilmista Forest, draped in near-constant twilight beneath its dense canopy, lies between Amn and Tethyr, a secretive and sovereign elven realm cradled in the shadow of the Snowflake Mountains. Once ruled by the noble King Galladel, the forest grieved his death in 1361 DR, when the ogrillon warlord Ragnor breached its bounds. Now, under the guidance of Lady Xuné, a revered High Priestess of Eilistraee and daughter of both surface and Underdark heritage, the Elves of the Night preserve its sanctity. The forest is sacred—no hunting, fire, or woodcutting is permitted, and those who defy its laws often fall victim to enchantments that twist them into beasts. Towering, ancient trees imbued with primal magic conceal ethereal glades, forgotten ruins, and vigilant elven sentries. Shilmista is more than a home—it is a living covenant between the elves and the natural world, a realm of hushed wonder and uncompromising protection.

Sildëyuir

Sildëyuir lies like a dream within the twilight folds of the Feywild, a resplendent realm sculpted by star elves to mirror both the heavens and the primeval wilds. Created as a sanctuary from Toril's growing dangers, this celestial enclave is bathed in silvery dusklight and scattered starlight, where luminous forests whisper secrets and crystal citadels float above moon-glass lakes. The Weave thrums with raw, amplified arcane energy, empowering spellcraft and enhancing the otherworldly talents of its people. Star elves, or mithral elves, dwell here in harmony with the land, guarding prophetic lore and preserving ancient magics thought lost in Faerûn. Time flows erratically, memory weaves into reality, and passage between worlds opens and closes like shifting constellations. Sildëyuir is no mere refuge—it is a beacon of elven transcendence, a realm where the stars themselves seem to sing, and where magic is not merely used, but lived.

Silverymoon

Silverymoon, the fabled "Gem of the North," rises along the banks of the Rauvin River, a luminous jewel set between the wild frontier and the ancient High Forest. Its soaring spires, silver bridges, and curving elven-style towers speak of a heritage steeped in magic and harmony, echoing the mythic city of Myth Drannor. Founded by powerful visionaries and once led by the legendary High Lady Alustriel Silverhand, Silverymoon remains a beacon of civilization and learning under the stewardship of Taern "Thunderspell" Hornblade. Magical wards enfold the city, forming unseen barriers against evil, while within, bardic colleges, spellcasting academies, and artistic enclaves flourish. Here, races mingle in rare concord, with humans, elves, dwarves, and more sharing taverns, temples, and lecture halls. A cornerstone of the Silver Marches, Silverymoon embodies the dream of a just, enlightened society amid the savage North—elegant, resilient, and ever watchful.

Skadaurak Island

Skadaurak Island rises violently from the Sea of Swords, a smoldering volcanic peak veiled in perpetual ash and smoke. This forbidding isle, named after a now-dead dragon of old, is the lair of Hoondarrh the Red Rage of Mintarn—an ancient red dragon of immense cunning and cruelty. His presence has loomed over the region for centuries, casting a fiery shadow over the nearby isle of Mintarn. Each year, emissaries from Mintarn brave the perilous waters and jagged coastline to deliver tribute—gems, gold, enchanted relics—to stave off Hoondarrh's wrath. Few ascend the craggy slopes unscathed, for the dragon has seeded the island with deadly traps, volcanic hazards, and enslaved guardians, all designed to deter thieves and heroes alike. Deep within the caldera lies Hoondarrh’s hoard, vast enough to rival a kingdom's treasury, guarded by the dragon’s piercing gaze and relentless fury. Skadaurak is no mere lair—it is a monument to domination.

Slag, the Final Fortress

Slag, the Final Fortress, stands as a grotesque monument to ruin within the sixth layer of the Nine Hells, Malbolge. Once a proud bastion of bronze and infernal might, it was broken and partially liquefied in Glasya’s brutal rise to power. Now, its warped towers lean at impossible angles, their surfaces blistered and runneled like cooled lava, gleaming faintly with infernal heat. The fortress’s innards are a labyrinth of molten corridors and jagged metal, where the air burns and screams echo endlessly. Within, the gilded husks of devils, fiends, and traitors remain preserved—encased in searing alchemical gold, their forms frozen in agony. These statues line the twisted halls like trophies or warnings. Slag is not abandoned, however; infernal scribes and torturers still dwell here, chronicling Glasya’s triumph and rooting out dissent. It is a place of suffering and silence, where loyalty is enforced not by command, but by the memory of annihilation.

Snakewood Forest

Nestled in eastern Amn, the Snakewood Forest, a remnant of the once vast Shantel Othreier, is a perilous woodland teeming with life and danger. Its name derives from the abundance of venomous black and green snakes that slither beneath its dense canopy, but these are not the sole threat. Giant spiders weave their webs among the gnarled trees, beholders float, their eyes ever watchful, and packs of lycanthropes stalk the shadows. Adding to the forest's dread, the ambitious green dragon Rin claims the northeastern reaches as her domain. The forest's eastern fringe marks the locations of both the Stone of Clans' Parting and Magar's Hill, sites of unknown significance. Bounded by the Troll Mountains to the west, the Green Fields to the south, and the Amstel and River of Running Sand to the north, Snakewood is a compact, yet formidable region, where survival demands vigilance and strength.

Snowdown

Snowdown, a temperate isle east of Gwynneth in the Moonshae Isles, presents a stark contrast of natural beauty marred by exploitation. Rolling hills and well-maintained roads give way to the Andover Heights in the west, and the central lakes Mal Sul and Harloch, linked by a brief river, alongside northern Mal Feargal. Once a lush land, Amnian occupation in the early 1400s DR stripped Snowdown of its resources, leaving behind a frontier-like landscape plagued by deforestation and pollution. Lady Erliza Daressin, a vampire viceroy, held sway from Caer Westphal, its docks teeming with Amnian vessels and taverns catering to seafaring folk, ruling with an iron fist of spies and hostages. The Ffolk, once vibrant, now display an aloof detachment, prioritizing comfort over conflict. Snowdown's history is etched in its scarred terrain, a testament to its tumultuous past and the enduring struggle for its soul.

Snowflake Mountains

The Snowflake Mountains, a jagged spine of the Iltkazar Range in West Faerûn, rise to dizzying heights exceeding 20,000 feet, their peaks forever capped in snow. This harsh realm, bordering Tethyr, Amn, and the remnants of Impresk, hosts a diverse population of hardy elves, humans, and goblinoids. Once, the Edificant Library, a beacon of knowledge dedicated to all wisdom-loving deities, stood nestled within its peaks, until its calamitous destruction in 1362 DR, replaced by the soaring cathedral of Deneir, the Spirit Soaring. To the north, the ominous Castle Trinity looms, a fell fortress where bitter conflicts once raged between the library's scholars and the venomous cult of Talona. The mountains themselves are a treacherous maze of icy ravines, sheer cliffs, and hidden valleys, making them a formidable barrier and a perilous journey for any traveler.

Solania, the Electrum Heaven

Solania, the Electrum Heaven or Crystal Heaven, the fourth layer of Mount Celestia, is a realm of spiritual contemplation and dwarven industry. A sky that glows like burnished silver casts a soft, ethereal light across the landscape. Its peaks are home to numerous holy shrines, monasteries, and magnificent cathedrals, where pilgrims seek answers to life's profound questions. The slopes are rich in precious ores and minerals, mined by the industrious dwarves who reside here. Moradin's dwarven mansion, Erackinor, stands as a testament to dwarven craftsmanship, its halls echoing with the sounds of forges and the clinking of hammers. Jazirian's realm, Uroboros, floats in the clouds above, a place of wisdom and celestial knowledge. The air is filled with the scent of incense and the metallic tang of dwarven forges, creating an atmosphere of both spiritual devotion and diligent labor. Solania is a place of profound contemplation and steadfast industry, where wisdom and beauty intertwine.

Southbank

Southbank, the radiant southern half of Silverymoon, stretches across the Rauvin River, its spires and domes mirrored in the shimmering waters. Once a modest extension of the city—little more than warehouses and stables—Southbank has flourished into a district of equal splendor to the famed Northbank. The Moonbridge, a luminous span of magic and moonlight, links the two halves, symbolizing unity and arcane might. At Southbank’s heart lies the Conclave of Silverymoon, a prestigious consortium of fourteen magical academies, where the traditions of Alustriel Silverhand endure. Among them, the Lady’s College and Miresk’s School of Thaumaturgy stand out as bastions of magical excellence. The Vault of the Sages, filled with ancient tomes and planar lore, anchors the district’s intellectual gravity. Along the Moonway, merchants, students, and spellcasters mingle in a vibrant blend of scholarship and sorcery, making Southbank a beacon of enlightenment on the frontier’s edge.

Southwood

South Wood, nestled within the so-called Triangle of Trees, sprawls between Loudwater, the Gray Vale, and the mist-wrapped shores of Highstar Lake. Though younger and less storied than its northern cousins, this dense woodland pulses with untamed vitality. Broad-leaved trees and thick underbrush create a tangled canopy over narrow game trails, while moss-laced boulders rise like silent watchers amid the gloom. Local lumberers from Loudwater skirt its fringes for timber, but few venture far, for the forest is claimed by a large and territorial goblin tribe known for setting brutal traps. Yet not all within South Wood is hostile—whispers speak of fey beings dancing in starlit glades, protective of their secret domains and known to toy with mortals who stumble too near. Between its unpredictable terrain, supernatural occupants, and cunning humanoid defenders, South Wood remains an enigmatic and perilous barrier—a wild frontier teetering between the civilized Vale and the forgotten wilds.

Sow's Foot

Sow’s Foot is a grimy, hard-bitten subdistrict clinging to the eastern edge of Baldur’s Gate’s Outer City, wedged between Twin Songs and Whitkeep. It is notorious for its pervasive stench, emanating from its many pig pens, tanneries, and butcher sheds. This neighborhood forms the backbone of the city’s meat supply, especially pork, though its presence is more tolerated than welcomed by the rest of the city. Zoned intentionally downwind from Dusthawk Hill to spare more respectable quarters from the odor, Sow’s Foot is regarded as a miserable slum, its streets often awash in mud and bloodied runoff. Despite its squalor, it hosts a stubbornly resilient community of herders, swine breeders, and foreign-born laborers—many of them expatriates from distant lands—who find tenuous solidarity amid the squeals and stench. While not home to many celebrated landmarks, the district occasionally draws attention for its role in the city’s food chain and for dealings around its slaughter yards.

Spiderhaunt Woods

Spiderhaunt Woods broods along the edge of Shadowdale, a haunted tangle of ancient forest where shadows cling like cobwebs and silence is seldom unbroken. Once touched by dark magic, the woods are now a haven for all manner of arachnids, from common woodland spiders to massive, intelligent horrors like phase spiders and sword spiders. The trees here are old and gnarled, their boughs heavy with draping webs that shimmer with sickly dew. Travelers speak of the Arachnid Pathway, a faint, winding trail threading from the Tethyamar Trail into the web-choked heart of the forest, where rare spell components lie amid deadly traps. Ettercaps blend into the bark and undergrowth, orchestrating ambushes for prey, while stranger and more malevolent beings dwell deeper in the woods. The North Ride marks a tenuous boundary, separating the safety of open roads from the forest's creeping dread. In Spiderhaunt, every branch seems to watch, and every step may be your last.

Ss'thar'tiss'ssun

Ss'thar'tiss'ssun, the City of Fountains, lies shattered and buried beneath Serpent’s Cowl, its grandeur eroded by time and conquest but never truly forgotten. Founded by the ancient sarrukh during the Days of Thunder, it was once a jewel of Najara’s serpent empire, a place of arcane artistry and divine reverence. Now, its streets lie entombed in silence, patrolled by undead sentinels, arcane constructs, and monstrous sword spiders twisted by time and sorcery. Intricate causeways and tunnels stretch from its crumbling plazas to distant Ss’zuraass’nee and Mount Hlim’s caverns, forming a vast, interconnected serpentwarren. At its heart, the Shrine of Cowled Serpents holds the Naja Fountain, a relic of potent magic said to bless and curse in equal measure. Conquered in ages past by the Shadowking of Ebenfar, the city now draws scholars, treasure hunters, and cultists alike. The Coiled Cabal’s expeditions reopened its secrets—secrets that still breathe, whisper, and wait.

Star Mounts

The Star Mounts rise like jagged teeth from the heart of the High Forest, their snow-clad peaks eternally veiled in clouds and mystery. Steep, unforgiving, and often cloaked in storms, these peaks resist most climbers, guarding secrets older than kingdoms. Strange pulses of magical light flicker among the heights—phenomena said to repel or beckon dragons, and to foretell omens. Within these cliffs, the ancient red dragon Imvaernarhro, known as Inferno, reigns in molten fury, hoarding treasure and lore in caverns wreathed in fire. The Star Mounts’ northern slopes are curiously level, offering rare passage, while the southern faces twist with cliffs and unstable paths. High above, flocks of aarakocra ride thermal winds, guardians and scouts of this treacherous realm. Centaur clans traverse the wooded foothills, stewards of the old ways. The Star Mounts are a place of prophecy and peril, where ancient power sleeps beneath the snow, and fire waits to rise again.

Stone Stand

Stone Stand, nestled deep within the High Forest of the Silver Marches, is a place of ancient reverence. A towering oak, a direct descendant of the Grandfather Tree, dominates the site, its branches reaching skyward from a central mound. Two concentric rings of cairns, each topped by standing menhirs capped with lintels, encircle the tree, creating a stone circle of formidable presence. This sacred site, held dear by both the Tree Ghost and the elusive Blue Bear Uthgardt tribes, whispers of forgotten rituals and primal power. Though thought extinct, the Blue Bears still make rare, nocturnal pilgrimages, their connection to the oak and the land undiminished. Beneath the mound, a relic of giantkind lies buried, a testament to ancient Uthgar worship, its magic believed to infuse the oak with protective energies. The air here hums with a palpable sense of ancient magic, a silent sentinel in the heart of the wild.

Stonyeyes

Nestled just beyond the Basilisk Gate, Stonyeyes is a hard-bitten subdistrict of the Outer City where grit, labor, and quiet resilience define daily life. This neighborhood, home to a sizable population of half-orcs, serves as a vital artery for commerce flowing in and out of Baldur’s Gate. Many residents work as porters or stablehands, hauling wares from caravans denied entry to the Lower City. The clang of hooves and the creak of overburdened wagons are constant companions here, as are the pungent smells of livestock and manure from the area's sprawling stockyards and stables. Though lawless by inner-city standards, Stonyeyes operates on its own rugged code—one enforced, for better or worse, by the Bloody Hands, a brutal gang whose red palm insignias are feared and respected in equal measure. Despite the gang’s grip, the locals endure, forging tight bonds in the face of prejudice, poverty, and danger.

Storm Horns

The Storm Horns, a jagged, untamed mountain range marking Cormyr's eastern and northern borders, rise as an imposing barrier of cliffs and crags teeming with monstrous inhabitants. Only High Horn Pass and Gnoll Pass offer accessible routes, both heavily defended by Cormyr. Within these treacherous peaks, ancient dragons like the formidable red Charillion and the chilling white Nexxylplyx claim dominion, their lairs hidden amidst the craggy slopes. Adding to the peril, the reclusive Netherese, descendants of powerful and hostile spellcasters, guard their hidden enclaves, unwelcoming to any intrusion. Further complicating matters, the erratic arrival and departure of extradimensional gates, linked to the city of Grodd, create unpredictable and dangerous anomalies throughout the range, solidifying the Storm Horns' reputation as a perilous and mysterious wilderness.

Stygia

Stygia, the fifth layer of the Nine Hells, is a realm of frozen dread—an endless, ice-choked ocean pierced by jagged floes, iceberg fortresses, and lightning-lit skies. The River Styx coils through this glacial wasteland, its toxic waters carving paths between drifting cities and fortress-states clinging to stability. Ruled by Levistus, trapped in eternal imprisonment within a towering iceberg, Stygia is paradoxically both stagnant and violently unstable. Icebreaker fleets and infernal checkpoints enforce his dominion, patrolling for rebels, heretics, and rivals. Amidst the fractured terrain lie infamous locales like Tantlin, the chaotic trade hub of devilish intrigues; Citadel Coldsteel, a grim bastion of infernal law; and the Duelist’s Chasm, where blood-freezes before it hits the ice. Even divine realms intrude—Sheyruushk's depths and Ankhwugaht’s alien waterscapes. Fire falters, cold corrodes, and only the ruthless endure the storms and secrets frozen beneath Stygia’s surface.

Sundabar

Sundabar, a formidable fortress city in the Silver Marches, presents a stark, treeless visage, encircled by two imposing ringed walls and the eel-infested Tarnar's Moat. Once a dwarven citadel, Citadel Sundbarr, it evolved into a human-dominated hub after Prince Simberuel Astalmé's arrival. Massive stone structures line cobblestone streets, sparsely adorned with herb gardens. A major trade center, Sundabar exports ore from Citadel Adbar and magical weapons forged by the Everfire, a volcanic rift beneath the city. Defenses include the Stone Shields, the Watchblade-led city watch, and the Shieldsar, a 2,000-strong military. The Undercity, home to dwarves, connects to the surface via a steep passage. The Everfire, guarded by the Vigilant, fuels the city's forges. Wealthy and well-stocked, Sundabar exports armor, weapons, and famously, caltrops. Governed by a Ruling Master, Sundabar employs adventurers with city charters.

Sunset Mountains

The Sunset Mountains, a formidable twin range bisected by the Far Hills, rise as a near-impenetrable barrier between the Eastern and Western Heartlands, marking Sunset Vale's eastern edge. Within these rugged peaks, dwarven clans, notably the Bruenghor, carve out mines accessed via the windswept Wind Walk, trading in Easting. Humanoid tribes, including yeti, gnoll, ogre, and drow, vie for territory, while the white dragon Ciraxis claims the treacherous Ice Caves as its lair, ruling over displacer beasts and frost giants. Mount Burning Eye, haunted by will-o'-wisps and wolves, features a signal tower atop its peak. The region yields black-veined marble, prized for Selgaunt's sculptures. An abandoned Temple to Shar, looted by the Band of the Broken Bow, hides a crystal globe sought by Cyricists. The perilous Yellow Snake Pass cuts through the mountains, part of the Long Road to Riches.

Sunset Mountains (South)

Suzail

Suzail, the gleaming heart of Cormyr, stands proudly on the shores of Lake Dragonmere, a port city famed for its order, prosperity, and near-legendary cleanliness. Ringed by towering 80-foot walls and patrolled by elite Purple Dragons, Suzail blends royal majesty with mercantile vitality. The city is split into two main sections: the Royal Court, a district of manicured gardens, noble estates, and the palatial seat of the Obarskyr dynasty, and the city proper, where cobbled avenues bustle with traders, guildmasters, and sailors. Taverns like Bindle’s and The Golden Goblin host both raucous locals and refined guests, while temples to Tymora and Oghma serve the faithful alongside shrines to Milil, Lliira, Tempus, and Malar. The Citadel commands respect as home to over 2,000 Purple Dragons & the vigilant War Wizards, ensuring swift justice. With a vital portal to Waterdeep and powerful merchant houses shaping policy, Suzail remains a pillar of strength in Faerûn’s ever-shifting tapestry.

Sword Mountains (North)

The Sword Mountains arc like a jagged spine northwest of Waterdeep, forming a rugged natural wall between the city and the wind-blasted coast of the Trackless Sea. Their western slopes descend into misty foothills that skirt the Mere of Dead Men, while their eastern faces overlook the Dessarin River valley. Though lacking in major trade routes, the range has long been a crucible of bloodshed—trolls once dominated these crags until the orc Warlord Wund's Scarlet Scourge drove them out in 927 DR. The orcs held sway until Uruth Ukrypt's horde surged forth in two failed assaults on Waterdeep. Their defeat left bitter remnants, notably the Broken Bone horde, who still fester in caves and ravines, nursing old grudges and ambitions. With storms rolling in from the sea, the Sword Mountains serve as both a shield and a threat—a realm of howling winds, orcish war drums, and treacherous trails, where danger hides beneath each shadowed ledge.

Sword Mountains (South)

Tabjari Citadel

Tabjari stands as a gleaming bastion of law and secrecy, a copper-walled citadel clinging to the sheer cliffs of Reaper’s Canyon—an abyssal scar carved deep into the fabric of the Outer Planes. Constructed from burnished, rune-inscribed copper that resists both planar erosion and infernal tampering, Tabjari is as much a symbol as it is a fortress: it houses one of only three known copies of the Pact Primeval, the foundational contract that ended the Dawn War and gave Hell its lawful dominion over mortal souls. Unlike its counterparts in the ordered gears of Mechanus and the luminous sanctuaries of Mount Celestia, Tabjari lies poised between extremes, its location chosen for neutrality, defensibility, and its proximity to both cosmic convergence and mortal meddling. Guarded by celestials, inevitables, and planar scholars, the citadel is as much archive as fortress. To approach it unbidden is to court obliteration. To read within it is to glimpse the engine of divine order.

Tangled Web Caverns

The Tangled Web Caverns form a vast and unnerving labyrinth deep underground, a twisting maze of natural caverns painstakingly reshaped by generations of giant spiders. These cunning predators have draped every surface in thick, sticky webs that shimmer faintly with captured moisture and dust, creating treacherous ground and tangled ceilings that threaten to ensnare the unwary. The air hangs heavy with the mingled scents of decay, silk, and damp earth, while phosphorescent fungi cling to jagged rock faces, casting eerie pale light across the gloom. Eyes—many, unblinking, and gleaming—peer from shadowed crevices, as skittering arachnid limbs patter endlessly, echoing through the endless tunnels. The caverns are alive with danger: nests of venomous broodlings, giant spider guardians, and mysterious webs that pulse with unnatural magic. Few who enter the Tangled Web leave unchanged, their minds haunted by the creeping darkness.

Tantlin

Tantlin, the gleaming crown of Stygia, rises as an extraordinary city sculpted entirely from the realm’s endless ice and frozen waters. As the second-largest trade hub of the fifth layer of Hell, it pulses with the cold commerce of fiends and mortals alike, a nexus where infernal contracts are brokered amid the glint of crystalline towers. The city’s concentric rings reflect the rigid hierarchy of devils—inner circles reserved for powerful archfiends, while lesser devils, damned souls, and mercenaries inhabit the outer wards. Translucent walls of enchanted ice shimmer with a spectral glow, casting eerie light over frozen plazas and canals that flow with chilled infernal energy. Despite the frigid environment, Tantlin’s markets teem with exotic goods, forbidden lore, and whispered plots. Guarded by frost-bound infernal legions and enchanted icebreakers patrolling the icy Styx, the city thrives on cold ambition, layered intrigue, and the promise of power in the endless chill.

Tejarn Hills

The Tejarn Hills, rugged and forbidding, rise sharply in southeastern Amn as a natural bulwark against incursion. Their jagged slopes and tangled ravines carve a maze-like terrain, favoring ambush and stealth over open battle. Sparse, hardy shrubs cling stubbornly to cracked rocks, barely softening the harshness of the windswept heights. The hills have long been a contested borderland with Tethyr, their difficult terrain shaping a history marked by skirmishes and sieges. The infamous 1370 DR invasion saw ogre-magi and fanatical Cyricist cultists exploit these defenses to seize Esmeltaran and Murann, leaving scars both physical and spiritual. Today, the Tejarn Hills stand as a silent witness to those conflicts—an unforgiving gauntlet where only the most skilled or desperate dare to tread, and where ancient echoes linger beneath stone and thorn.

Temple District

The Temple District of Baldur's Gate is the spiritual and ceremonial heart of Athkatla, filled with towering sanctuaries and divine intrigue. Revered temples to Helm, Lathander, and Talos dominate the skyline, their doctrines competing in both prayer and politics. This district serves not only as a place of worship but as a crucible for adventurers, with quests such as the Unseeing Eye and the Ring of Lathander pulling pilgrims and mercenaries alike into divine affairs. The High Hall of the Radiant Heart, home to a righteous knightly order, stands as a bulwark of justice amid the district’s sacred spires, while the mysterious Guarded Compound hides darker secrets behind fortified walls. Beneath the cobbled streets, ancient sewers fester with forgotten paths and dangerous cults, making the Temple District both hallowed and hazardous. It remains one of the city's oldest and most historically significant quarters.

Ten Towers

Malagard’s severed fingers, now the Ten Towers, pierce the blood-red skies of Avernus like twisted ivory daggers, grotesque monuments to Glasya’s unyielding dominion. Each tower, crooked and bone-white, serves as both roost and ruthless sentinel over the infernal wastes. The foremost, the Tower of Pain, stands as a vertical hellscape of torment, its darkened levels ascending with escalating cruelty—cells ringed with agony traps, chambers of eternal punishment where Glasya’s enemies writhe beneath unending torment. Devils patrol these cursed spires, their silhouettes sharp against the pale stone, enforcing merciless justice and ensuring none escape the archduchess’s wrath. These towers embody the brutal, unrelenting order Glasya demands, where suffering is both weapon and artifice. As a chilling reminder of the cost of defiance, the Ten Towers dominate the horizon—a fortress of fear and a symbol of infernal power.

Thar

Thar, the Great Grey Land, stretches bleak and unyielding north of the Moonsea, a vast moor of cracked stone, wind-swept bogs, and rolling fog that clings to the foothills of the Galena Mountains. This desolate expanse endures a bitter climate, where icy winds tear through mist and marsh, and sun is a rare visitor. It is a land marked by endless strife, where orc and ogre tribes clash in brutal, ceaseless warfare over dwindling resources and honor. The Glister Road, a narrow and perilous route, snakes through the wastes, connecting the scattered ruins of nomadic encampments and the skeletal remains of once-mighty ogre fortresses—echoes of a forgotten order under Vorbyx, the First King of Thar. His legacy lives on in tales and bloodlines that both orc and ogre claim, fueling ancient grudges and fierce loyalty. Thar is a land where survival demands strength, and where every shadow might hide a rival or predator drawn to the ruined strongholds’ dark promise.

The Abyss

The Infinite Layers of the Abyss, a chaotic evil plane, births demons and exists as a universe of uncountable, varied layers connected haphazardly. Its landscape tortures mind and body, a violent, malevolent place where only the strong survive. Layers range from air-dominant voids and fiery hellscapes to fungal swamps and undead realms, each unique and often ruled by powerful demon lords or deities. The Abyss's cosmology shifted over time, moving from the Great Wheel to the World Tree and finally to the Elemental Chaos after the Spellplague, yet its core nature remains: a realm of infinite, shifting dangers where terrain and inhabitants are equally hostile. The river Styx, or the River of Blood, flows through its layers, connecting it to other fiendish planes. Portals to other planes exist, but the ever-changing nature of the Abyss and its layers make it a place of constant flux, destruction, and rebirth.

The Astral Sea

The Astral Plane, an infinite, gray void, serves as a transitive plane connecting the Outer Planes and Prime Material Planes. Here, time flows strangely, with a thousand years passing as a single day. Gravity is nonexistent, yet objects retain mass, allowing for movement through the void. Travelers can enter via astral projection, leaving their physical bodies behind, or by physically traversing with spells like plane shift. The plane is characterized by color pools, portals to other planes, and chunks of matter drifting through the emptiness. Denizens include githyanki, astral dreadnoughts, and various planar beings. It is also the graveyard of dead gods, their remnants floating as god-isles. In some cosmologies, it overlaps with wildspace, allowing spelljammer travel. The Astral Plane is a place of thought and psychic energy, where reality is fluid and shaped by will.

The Birthing Pits

The Birthing Pits are revolting, bubbling pools of filth nestled within swollen, pulsing mounds scattered throughout Malbolge, the sixth layer of the Nine Hells. These grotesque vats serve as the infernal crucibles where damned souls are cruelly transformed into lemures—the lowest and most wretched form of devil. Overseen by merciless Pain devils, souls are dragged screaming into the viscous, maggot-infested waters, their essence stripped and warped in agony. The largest and most infamous Birthing Pit lies at Malbolge’s core, concealed beneath a suffocating forest of twisted, charred trees. From these nauseating depths, newly forged lemures writhe free, then are herded into the service of infernal armies and labor gangs, condemned to endless servitude. The air here is thick with the stench of decay and despair, a perpetual reminder of Hell’s merciless cycle of torment and rebirth.

The Bronze Citadel

The Bronze Citadel, once the fortress of Zariel and later corrupted by Bel before returning to her command, has transformed into a sprawling, brutal metropolis that sprawls for dozens of miles across Avernus. Enclosed by fourteen concentric ring walls, each fortified with towering battlements bristling with ballistae, catapults, and infernal war machines, the citadel is a fortress-city of relentless militarization. Bone scaffolding and sinew-like ligaments support its vast, ever-expanding walls, built tirelessly by swarms of lemures, soul shells, and imps. Inside, countless devils prepare ceaselessly for the Blood War, their ranks swelling with damned souls conscripted into eternal conflict. Stretching toward the foothills of the Stigmaris Mountains, the 600-square-mile complex embodies the ceaseless brutality and chaotic warfare defining Avernus and Zariel’s iron rule. The Bronze Citadel stands as a living, shifting monument to hellish order and eternal strife.

The Buried Realms

The Buried Realms are an immense and tangled web of caverns and tunnels sprawling deep beneath Faerûn, embodying the boundless reach of the Underdark. Cloaked in endless darkness, these subterranean passages wind through ancient stone, carved by eons of shifting earth and forgotten forces. They shelter lost cities, half-collapsed strongholds, and relics of civilizations long erased from memory. The air here is heavy with the chill of damp rock and the faint, metallic scent of hidden veins. Echoes of whispered histories mingle with the skittering of unseen creatures and the drip of underground streams. To delve into the Buried Realms is to risk one’s life in pursuit of arcane secrets, lost treasures, and the haunting allure of forgotten power—a realm as dangerous as it is mysterious.

The Chasm

The Chasm District in Neverwinter is a jagged scar carved into the city’s southeastern edge, a grim legacy of Mount Hotenow’s cataclysmic eruption in 1451 DR. This vast rift tore through the Beggar’s Nest and the Arcanist Quarter, swallowing neighborhoods and unleashing waves of netheric corruption. For decades, abominations from the Shadowfell spilled forth, until the efforts of adventurers and spellcasters—backed by the rule of Lord Dagult Neverember—sealed the Chasm with powerful magic and divine intervention. Neverember, acting as Protector of Neverwinter on behalf of Waterdeep, diverted resources to flood the Chasm, transforming it into a drowned ruin to suppress the lingering threats below. Though the worst of the incursions has been quelled, arcane taint and ancient malevolence still slumber beneath the murky depths. Today, the Chasm is a forbidden frontier—patrolled by mercenaries, studied by cautious mages, and haunted by memories of a city nearly lost.

The Cold Wood

The Cold Wood sprawls along the edge of the Silver Marches, a vast, wild forest thick with towering pines, slender birches, and stout spruces dusted in snow. Unlike the carefully tended lands nearby, this forest remains largely untouched, a realm where nature’s will holds sway. Beneath the frosted canopy, elusive snow tigers prowl with silent grace, while fierce orc warbands and towering ettins carve out brutal territories amid shadowed glades. Scattered Uthgardt tribes roam these woods, living in harmony with the ancient trees they revere—never felling living timber, their nomadic paths weaving through the forest’s heart. The air here is sharp and clear, filled with the rustle of brittle leaves and the haunting howl of distant beasts. The Cold Wood is a wild, beautiful, and perilous wilderness, embodying the untamed spirit of the North.

The Cold Wood (South)

The Crooked Branch Hold

Tucked deep within a tangled thicket of thorny brambles and fallen, moss-covered logs lies a hastily assembled bandit camp, deceptive in its rugged simplicity yet surprisingly well-fortified. The bandits have taken advantage of natural hollows and shallow caves scattered throughout the area, reinforcing entrances with crude timber barricades and sharpened wooden stakes driven into the earth. This rough network of shelters and fortifications grants a strong defensive position against unwary foes. The air here hangs heavy with the acrid scent of smoldering woodsmoke, mingled with the musk of unwashed bodies and the pungent tang of poorly tanned hides. Scattered about are crude traps—pitfalls lined with sharpened spikes, snare wires hidden beneath fallen leaves—reminding all who enter that this disorganized band is ever watchful, ready to spring violence with fierce desperation.

The Dalelands

Nestled between Cormyr and the Moonsea, the Dalelands stretch as a vibrant quilt of independent dales—each a distinct realm woven from verdant forests, rolling farmland, and winding rivers. Bordered by the ancient, mysterious Cormanthor Forest to the west and the jagged Desertsmouth Mountains to the east, the region teems with life and simmering tension. From the rich orchards and fortified towns of Archendale to the rugged, battle-scarred lands of Battledale and the shadow-haunted wilds of Daggerdale, each dale offers unique perils and opportunities. The shadow of Zhentil Keep looms ever near, while marauding raiders stir unrest, forging the Dalelands into a crucible for heroes and villains alike. Rooted in ancient lore and whispered legends, this land is a frontier of untamed beauty and lingering secrets, where courage is rewarded and danger lurks in equal measure.

The Deep Wastes

The Deep Wastes lie buried deep beneath Faerûn’s surface, a bleak and hostile realm swallowed by endless darkness and profound silence. This forsaken domain is a harsh expanse of jagged, broken stone and yawning fissures that scar the barren landscape like wounds. The air is thin and bone-chilling, carrying only the faintest echoes of dripping water and the distant scuttle of unseen, skittering creatures adapted to the eternal night. Whispers of long-forgotten horrors haunt the cold shadows—ancient evils that refuse to die, their presence lingering as a malevolent breath across the wastes. Isolation reigns supreme here; only the hardiest and most twisted beings endure this realm, where danger is constant and survival demands relentless resilience. The Deep Wastes are a realm of dread and desolation, a silent tomb beneath the earth’s surface.

The Docks

The Neverwinter Docks, a raucous nexus of global trade, sprawl westward between the Protector's Enclave and the shadowy Blacklake District. A cacophony of creaking timbers, hawkers' cries, and foreign tongues fills the air as ships laden with exotic goods berth along the bustling piers. While legitimate commerce thrives, shadows lurk in the district’s grimy alleys and weathered warehouses, where illicit deals and criminal enterprises flourish. Rough-looking sailors, shrewd merchants, and shifty figures mingle, creating a volatile atmosphere. Adventurers seeking fortune or information, be it legal or otherwise, often find themselves drawn into the docks' complex web of commerce and intrigue, navigating its perilous blend of opportunity and danger.

The Evermoors

The Evermoors, also known as the Trollmoors, stretch as a vast, mist-shrouded expanse of bogs, marshes, and rolling hills—a perilous gauntlet carved from fog and shadow. This forbidding land pulses with the presence of hulking trolls, lumbering giants, and other dark creatures that stalk the endless mists. Beneath its murky waters lie hidden caverns rich with veins of copper, lead, and gold, drawing the daring and desperate into treacherous depths. To the west, near Everlund, the Sleeping Dragon ravine plunges into dense shadowtops and duskwoods, concealing forgotten secrets and lurking threats beneath its heavy canopy. The Evermoors blend deadly wilderness, monstrous menace, and tantalizing treasure—where fortune and fate intertwine in chilling balance.

The Fallen Lands

The Fallen Lands are a blighted expanse of hills and scrubland west of Anauroch, nestled between the Far Forest to the north and Weathercote Wood to the south. Once part of the terrestrial holdings of ancient Netheril, these lands were the domain of lesser mages and outposts left behind as the empire’s flying cities ascended. Centuries later, the region is a broken husk riddled with magical scars—dead-magic zones, wild magic surges, and spontaneous bursts of “witchfire” that erupt under moonlight. Ruins dot the land like scattered bones, remnants of ancient cities lost to cataclysm and time. During the mid-to-late 14th century DR, Zhentarim agents combed the region for relics, while fiends from the fallen Hellgate Keep spread corruption into its southern reaches. The Fallen Lands remain a place of danger, strangeness, and half-whispered legend—a magnet for treasure-hunters, warlocks, and creatures from beyond.

The Far Forest

The Far Forest stretches as a shadowed, tangled expanse nestled between the towering Nether and Graypeak Mountains, its depths thick with ancient trees and choking undergrowth. Once a lively haven for sprites and fey creatures, the forest now bears deep scars from fiendish corruption that creeps like a blight through its heart. Vines twist over moss-covered ruins of forgotten temples and shattered statues, relics of a time when the forest thrummed with pure magic. Fierce treants stand sentinel amidst the gnarled trunks, their roots intertwined with leprechauns’ hidden glades, guarding the forest’s last vestiges of natural power. The Far Forest remains a place of uneasy balance—a realm where the wild and corrupted clash, and ancient magic lingers beneath creeping shadows.

The Far Hills

The Far Hills rise as a rugged, unforgiving barrier in the Western Heartlands, their rocky crests and shadowed valleys marking the eastern edge of Sunset Vale and separating the Sunset Mountains from the surrounding lands. Thick stands of gnarled, ancient trees cling stubbornly to steep slopes, concealing twisting paths and deadly ambush points. Though wild in appearance, the hills are firmly dominated by the brooding fortress of Darkhold, whose dark towers cast a long shadow over every pass and glen. Under Darkhold’s iron grip, the Far Hills become a formidable stronghold, blending natural peril with ruthless martial control. The terrain’s strategic complexity and the fortress’s vigilant garrison make it a near-impenetrable buffer zone, where dangers both natural and manmade lie in wait for the unwary.

The Feydark

The Feydark, a vibrant, magical reflection of the Underdark within the Feywild, pulses with a strange, alluring life. Bathed in perpetual twilight, its depths shimmer with glowing purple crystals and forests of colossal, bizarre fungi. Waterfalls cascade, their streams running red with algae, nourishing a thriving ecosystem of unique herbivores and predators. Here, primal mud, a rich, organic sediment, fuels the lush flora, making it far more life-supporting than its Material Plane counterpart. The dominant sapient race, the fomorians, carve their existence within its labyrinthine tunnels, while svirfneblin gnomes delve for magical stones, and drow utilize its shadows for clandestine travel. This realm, an echo of Toril, twists time and distance, enhancing arcane magic, and presents a stark contrast to the surface Feywild's courts, yet remains a crucial, if perilous, part of its reality.

The Feywild

The Feywild, an echo of the Prime Material Plane, is a realm of heightened sensations and unrestrained emotions. Bathed in perpetual twilight, its landscapes are dramatically beautiful, with mountains towering and rivers flowing with supernatural clarity. Time flows erratically, and arcane magic is amplified, suffusing the plane's inhabitants and landmarks. Its geography mirrors Faerun, yet distances are unpredictable, and time's passage is inconsistent, potentially leading to dire consequences for mortal visitors. The plane is home to various fey creatures, including eladrin, goblins, and fomorians, and is ruled by powerful archfey like Titania and the Queen of Air and Darkness, whose courts, Seelie and Unseelie, respectively, shape the plane's politics. Notable locations include Astrazalian, Cendriane, and the Feydark, the Feywild's Underdark equivalent. The Feywild's connection to Faerun has varied over time, with periods of separation and reconnection.

The Forgotten Lake

The Forgotten Lake is a shallow, dark basin where the somber waters of the River Styx seep into the infernal expanse of Nessus, the ninth and deepest layer of the Nine Hells. This eerie pool is framed by jagged, blackened rocks and gnarled, twisted trees whose branches claw at a sky perpetually veiled in crimson gloom. The lake’s stagnant surface mirrors the despair that saturates the landscape, its waters slowly percolating through fissures and crevasses that lead deeper into the fiery bowels of Nessus. From here, the river’s unholy currents continue their journey into the barren wastes of Gehenna, bridging realms of torment. The Forgotten Lake is both a threshold and a prison—its silence broken only by the faint, mournful whispers of souls lost to infernal fate, a place of dark transition where hope is drowned and darkness reigns.

The Frozen Forest

The Frozen Forest clings tenaciously to the western edge of the towering Great Glacier in the Moonsea North, a dense expanse of conifers heavy with glistening ice and frost. Branches and needles are encrusted with crystal shards, transforming the woods into a shimmering labyrinth of cold and silence. Stretching from the Abbey Mountains southward toward Ghaethluntar, and wedged between the barren Anauroch desert and the glacier’s vast ice fields, this forest is a realm of unyielding cold and whispered secrets. The air is perpetually frigid, biting and sharp, while shadows conceal dangers both natural and arcane. The Frozen Forest is woven through with forgotten ruins and legends half-buried beneath snow and ice. Though tales mention its eerie beauty and perils, much remains hidden—drawing cautious adventurers who seek to unravel its mysteries while surviving its deadly embrace.

The Glacial Tombs of Frozen Betrayal

The Glacial Tombs of Frozen Betrayal: A vast, frozen necropolis, where the bodies of those who betrayed their infernal masters are entombed in massive blocks of glacial ice. These tombs are scattered across a desolate, windswept plain, their surfaces etched with the names and crimes of the damned. The air is thick with the chill of death and the whispers of forgotten sins, and the ground is littered with shards of broken ice, remnants of past attempts to break the tombs. The tombs are guarded by spectral ice devils, their forms flickering in the frigid air, their eyes glowing with icy malevolence. Frozen runes, etched into the ice, pulse with a dark energy, preventing the souls of the entombed from escaping their icy prisons. The constant howling of the wind through the frozen tombs creates a mournful symphony of despair, a testament to the price of treachery in the infernal realm.

The Great Glacier (Pelvuria)

The Great Glacier—known as Pelvuria to its native peoples—is a vast, ancient sheet of ice dominating the northeastern expanse of Faerûn. Created in −2550 DR when the god Ulutiu cast himself into an arctic sea, the glacier slowly encroached upon the Cold Lands, swallowing Vaasa, Damara, and Narfell beneath a mile-thick blanket of frost. It grew unopposed for millennia, slowed only by elven High Magic until the Ice Queen Iyraclea, empowered by Auril, renewed its advance in 632 DR. Though its might was curtailed with her death in 1373 DR, the glacier remains a frozen, awe-inspiring land of silence and danger. It is home to the Ulutiun people, frost giants, white dragons, and chilling secrets beneath its icebound surface. As it melts, the glacier reveals long-lost cities, cursed ruins, and hidden portals to even colder realms like the Frostfell—unleashing threats long entombed beneath the ice.

The Green Fields

The Green Fields manifest as both a serene celestial plane and a vibrant region on Faerûn. In the afterlife, it's a boundless expanse of verdant hills dotted with cozy halfling settlements, a peaceful haven for virtuous souls and the divine abode of halfling gods. Here, petitioners find solace in meditative labor and tranquil existence. Conversely, the terrestrial Green Fields, nestled within the Western Heartlands, are a rolling grassland, a geographical tapestry bordered by Amn to the south, Durlag's Tower to the west, the Chionthar river to the north, and the Giant's Plain to the east. This region, often depicted in adventurer's maps, presents a landscape of gentle slopes and fertile plains, a common stage for mortal journeys and encounters, distinct from its celestial namesake yet sharing a name and general aesthetic.

The High Forest

The High Forest, a sprawling, ancient woodland in northwest Faerûn, stretches between the Nether Mountains to the north and the High Moor to the south, bordering the Evermoors to the west and Anauroch's arid expanse to the east, with the Delimbiyr River tracing its eastern edge. This dense, primeval forest, ruled by the wood elf Morgwais the Red, teems with diverse inhabitants: wood elves, gnolls, centaurs, orcs, humans, and more, all vying for territory. Within its depths lie the Star Mounts, sources of the Unicorn Run and Heartblood River; the Lost Peaks, birthplace of the Dessarin River; and the ominous Dire Wood. Echoes of the fallen Elven Empire of Aryvandaar linger, with remnants of their cities scattered amidst the towering trees. The forest's spiritual heart beats with reverence for Corellon Larethian and Chauntea, reflecting its deep connection to nature.

The High Forest (South)

The High Ice

The High Ice, a vast, magically-expanded glacier north of the Anauroch desert, presents a desolate expanse of treacherous terrain. Once halted by Netherese magic, its uncontrolled growth now blankets the region, harboring a chilling array of monstrous inhabitants. Snow elves, dragonborn clans, savage orcs, and creatures like remorhaz, ice trolls, yeti, and winter wolves roam its icy wastes. Amidst the frozen landscape, the Smokeholes, large vents spewing steam from the subterranean Caverns of Burning Ice, offer perilous access to rare ores sought by gnomes and dwarves. Scattered throughout the glacier are other hidden locations like Bhaulaea, Choshein, Llashloch, Taglorlar, Untrivvin, and Lathery, each a potential site of adventure or doom. The High Ice, with its brutal environment and formidable denizens, is a formidable challenge for even the most seasoned adventurers.

The High Moor

The High Moor stretches vast and windswept, a desolate plateau etched with hardy grasses and jagged stones, hemmed by the looming Serpent Hills and the shadowed Misty Forest. This stark land blends wild beauty with lurking danger, where ancient ruins crumble beneath an endless, brooding sky. Bogs claim the unwary with silent menace, while craggy outcrops shelter fierce denizens—gnolls, trolls, and darker horrors. Scattered across the moor are weathered menhirs, moss-covered statues, and skeletal fortress remains, relics of empires long vanished into legend. The very air hums with untamed magic, a restless force that bends nature’s laws. In the High Moor, survival is a constant struggle, as every shadow may hide a deadly foe—or a treasure forgotten by time.

The High Moors

The High Moors stretch desolately along Cormyr’s northern border, a bleak expanse of mist-shrouded upland moorland where cold rains fall without mercy. This sodden, windswept terrain conceals the ruined remnants of Miyeritar, an ancient kingdom shattered during the Crown Wars by the devastating magics of the Vyshaantar Empire. Weathered stone walls and shattered towers rise faintly from the mire, echoing a lost era now claimed by savage beasts and monstrous tribes. Flanked by the forbidding Serpent Hills and the shadowed Misty Forest, the moors form a hazardous frontier—home to fierce monsters and haunted ruins that challenge even the hardiest adventurers. The High Moors are a land of ruin, danger, and ancient sorrow, where the past’s echoes linger beneath the ever-present mist.

The High Road

The High Road is a storied overland trade route running along the Sword Coast North, linking the great city of Waterdeep in the south to the icy port of Luskan in the north. Once predating even the rise of Waterdeep itself, the High Road has served as the spine of northward commerce, ferrying goods, pilgrims, soldiers, and adventurers between the Heartlands and the frontier. It skirts the edges of the Sword Mountains and cuts through or near several historic sites: Leilon, Neverwinter, Port Llast, and the Mere of Dead Men. Over the centuries, the High Road has seen periods of prosperity and decay, ravaged by orc hordes, swallowed by swampland, and reclaimed by civilization. In recent decades, Lord Neverember's investments have sparked a renaissance, rebuilding shattered waystations and hiring mercenaries to suppress threats—though dangers still lurk in shadowed reaches, from will-o'-wisps in the bog to bandits and black dragons watching from the mists.

The Iron Labyrinth of Betrayal

The Iron Labyrinth of Betrayal sprawls as a brutal, ever-shifting maze forged from razor-edged iron plates that slice and grind with relentless motion. Within its cold, metallic walls, the damned who have betrayed sacred trusts are condemned to wander endlessly, their flesh shredded by unforgiving serrated edges that shift without warning. Demonic overseers clad in spiked iron armor stalk the twisting corridors, their cruel laughter echoing and weaving through the cacophony of clanging metal and agonized screams. The labyrinth distorts reality with cruel illusions, false paths, and deadly traps that deepen despair and confusion. The air reeks of blood, burnt ozone, and grinding steel—a suffocating testament to ceaseless torment and betrayal made manifest in iron and anguish.

The King's Forest

The King's Forest, once a thriving part of the ancient Cormanthor, lies within western Cormyr as a dense woodland renowned for its towering canopy and teeming wildlife. Historically a favored hunting ground of nobles, its serene beauty was shattered following the Goblin War’s end in 1371 DR. Orcs poured into the forest, their warbands transforming this once-peaceful refuge into a domain of danger and ambush. The thick woods now echo with savage cries and the rustle of hidden foes. To protect merchants and travelers, the Purple Dragons maintain vigilant patrols along the forest roads, seeking to contain the orcish menace. The King’s Forest stands as a place of stark contrast—still rich in natural splendor, yet shadowed by war and vigilant guardianship.

The Kingdom of Gnarhelm

Gnarhelm, a rugged Northlander kingdom nestled on Alaron's northern reaches, presents a stark landscape of craggy hills and sheer cliffs, perpetually shrouded in mist and battered by tempestuous storms from the Trackless Sea. Its hardy human inhabitants, adept land travelers and warriors, thrive despite the challenging terrain that hinders sea navigation. Rich in mineral wealth, Gnarhelm boasts extensive mines yielding copper, gold, iron, and silver, compensating for its meager agricultural output. The capital, also named Gnarhelm, sits on rolling plains near Salmon Bay, serving as a vital trade hub where Northlanders and Waterdhavian merchants exchange goods, including slaves and Ffolk weapons. Though its navy is small, Gnarhelm's formidable army, bolstered by a strong cavalry, ensures the kingdom's defense. Rulers like Sigurd Helmudson and the Olafsson lineage have shaped this resilient realm.

The Long Road

The Long Road is a major inland trade route in Northwest Faerûn, spanning from the gates of Waterdeep in the south to the mining fortress-city of Mirabar in the north. Forged from centuries of merchant traffic, military movement, and dwarven engineering, the Long Road climbs through perilous terrain—including the Dessarin Valley, the Sword Mountains foothills, and the southern Spine of the World—linking some of the North’s most vital settlements. While the Trade Way hugs the coast, the Long Road cuts through the wild heart of the frontier, carrying caravans laden with ores, timber, furs, and gems. It serves as a lifeline between the cosmopolitan South and the dwarven and barbarian-dominated North, though it is often plagued by bandits, orcs, trolls, and worse. Though patrolled sporadically by guards from local powers, the road’s remote stretches demand vigilance—and bravery—from all who travel it.

The Moonsea

The Moonsea, also known as the Dark Sea, is a vast, cold, and often storm-lashed inland body of water in northern Faerûn, bordered by dangerous frontiers and ruthless city-states. Its shores are home to cities like Zhentil Keep, Mulmaster, Hillsfar, and Melvaunt—places known for their tyranny, intrigue, and martial strength. Rich in minerals, monsters, and ancient ruins, the Moonsea region has long drawn fortune-seekers, necromancers, and warmongers. The Black Network (Zhentarim) and Cult of the Dragon have vied for power here for centuries, exploiting the region’s fractured politics. While trade does flow, it does so at sword-point, with mercenaries, pirates, and slavers patrolling both land and lake. The Moonsea’s waters are deep, frigid, and said to hide the wreckage of Netherese skyships, long-drowned cities, and slumbering horrors best left unnamed.

The Northdark

The Northdark, the farthest northern reach of the Underdark beneath Faerûn, is a realm of unyielding darkness and bitter cold. Its vast labyrinth of caverns alternates between frozen ice chambers and seething volcanic vents, creating an environment as hostile as it is alien. The air is thin and frigid, carrying the distant echoes of dripping water and the skittering of countless subterranean creatures adapted to its harshness. Ancient horrors and forgotten evils linger in the shadows, their whispers threading through the silence like ghostly breaths. The Northdark is a realm of extreme isolation and ceaseless danger—only the toughest and most cunning survive its endless perils.

The Obsidian Mirror of Betrayal's Echo

The Obsidian Mirror of Betrayal's Echo: A vast, warped obsidian surface reflecting fractured, ever-shifting scenes of betrayals, real and imagined. Here, tormented souls are forced to witness the echoes of their own treachery, or the treachery done to them. The reflections whisper false promises of redemption, only to shatter into agonizing shards of guilt. Orcus's influence is palpable, as the mirror amplifies the despair of broken oaths, mirroring his own betrayal by the Queen of Chaos. The air is thick with the stench of broken pacts, and the ground is littered with the petrified tears of those who have seen too much. The ever-present, warped images shift and contort, showing moments of past betrayals, and potential future ones, creating a dizzying, maddening effect. The surface actively warps to show the most painful betrayal a soul has suffered, or committed, making it a place of constant, personalized torment. The obsidian is impossibly smooth, yet reflects distorted images.

The Peaceable Lands

Deep within the burning plains of Avernus, Bargrivyek’s Lair sprawls as a chaotic yet strangely ordered stronghold for a fearsome goblin tribe. The lair is a sprawling jumble of crude shelters fashioned from twisted scrap metal, charred bones, and scorched wood, pieced together with brutal ingenuity. Flickering flames from nearby lava streams cast dancing shadows over the ramshackle encampment, bathing it in an eerie red glow. The air thrums with the clamor of goblin voices, the clang of scavenged weapons, and the crackle of infernal fire. Bargrivyek’s Lair is a place of survival and savagery, where cunning goblin warbands gather under brutal leaders, ready to swarm and strike in the eternal Blood War.

The Purple Rocks

The Purple Rocks, a remote archipelago in the Trackless Sea, lie 800 miles west of Gundarlin, their craggy peaks rising from the turbulent waters. Verdant valleys, concealed behind forested slopes, offer a deceptive tranquility. Under stormy skies, the islands adopt a sinister purple shade, lending them their name. Utherall, the eastern isle, hosts the settlement of Vilkstead, while Trisk, to the west, shelters the village of Ulf of Thuger, the two separated by a hundred miles of open sea. Whispers claim the inhabitants are bound to the kraken Slarkrethel, their lives twisted by his influence. Locals display unsettling fish-like traits, a gradual transformation leading them back to the sea’s depths. Newborns are cast into the waves, claimed by the kraken, and return as warped adults, their descent into aquatic servitude complete. The islands emanate an air of dread, and outsiders who pry into their secrets are met with hostility, their presence swiftly discouraged.

The Reaching Woods

The Reaching Woods stretch vast and ancient across the Western Heartlands, a sprawling sea of elms, maples, beeches, and oaks that drape the lands east of the River Chionthar, south of the Trielta Hills, and west of Triel. Once a sanctuary of peace and natural splendor, these woods now bear the scars of relentless goblinoid invasions, their brutal rule subjugating native centaur and satyr tribes. Yet pockets of resistance endure—guarded by fierce druids and sacred shrines honoring Eldath, the gentle goddess of peace. Among the trees, the legendary Walking Tower, a relic of Netheril’s fall, stands sentinel—a towering testament to lost arcane might and lingering power. Though the forest seems tranquil by day, its shadows conceal restless spirits, hidden battles, and the uneasy tension between ancient magic and dark conquest.

The Ride

The Ride, a frigid, wind-swept steppe nestled between the Dragonspine Mountains, Border Forest, and Thar, presents a harsh landscape dominated by nomadic Eraka tribes. These mounted barbarians, speaking Erakic, are fiercely independent, often warring amongst themselves, yet they unite against external forces like the Zhentarim or the encroaching Warlock Knights of Vaasa, who seek the region's mineral wealth. 14th century mines, controlled by Melvaunt and Zhentil Keep, scar the northern mountains. The Vaegould, aggressive primordial worshippers, and the Varm, peaceful totem magic practitioners who venerate primal spirits, represent the diverse tribal cultures that carve out survival in this unforgiving terrain. The Ride’s unforgiving environment breeds hardy warriors, and its hidden resources make it a constant point of conflict.

The River Chionthar

The River Chionthar is one of the most vital arteries of western Faerûn, coursing from the Sunset Mountains through the Western Heartlands before emptying into the Sea of Swords at the great city of Baldur’s Gate. This wide, swift-flowing river is essential to trade, travel, and military logistics, linking a dozen key settlements including Berdusk, Iriaebor, Scornubel, and Elturel. It has long served as a lifeline for farmers, merchants, adventurers, and nobles alike. Since the fall of Elturel into Avernus and its miraculous return, the river has gained additional spiritual significance among followers of Torm and Helm, who see its waters as a symbol of perseverance and divine mercy. River pirates, sahuagin incursions near the delta, and ancient ruins hidden in riverside marshes all contribute to the Chionthar's storied and dangerous allure.

The River District

The River District, known also as the Tower District, sprawls across Neverwinter’s northeastern quarter, a scarred and volatile landscape dominated by towering remnants of history—the imposing Cloak Tower, the crumbled Fallen Tower, and the mysterious, levitating Shard of Night. Weathered stones bear silent witness to relentless orcish assaults and the ongoing strife among powerful factions vying for control. The arcane Covenant weaves magic through shattered streets, while the Many-Starred Cloak pledges loyalty to the city’s rebirth. The Graycloaks stand ever vigilant, and the Harpers operate from the shadows. The ambitious New Neverwinter movement pushes for change amid the watchful Neverwinter Guard and Wintershield Watchmen. In this crucible of ruin and hope, arcane power and political intrigue clash fiercely as the city fights to rise anew.

The Ruins of Ascarl

The Sunken City of Ascarl, a once-proud elven metropolis, now lies in watery ruin off Trisk's northern Purple Rocks. Glacial melt submerged its elegant spires and coral-encrusted avenues, leaving behind a haunting labyrinth of drowned architecture. The city's skeletal remains, patrolled by schools of bioluminescent fish, hint at a lost splendor. Within these eerie depths, the drow, agents of the Kraken Society, established a sinister stronghold, transforming the once-beautiful city into a nexus of dark rituals and aquatic treachery. Crumbling archways and seaweed-draped statues conceal hidden chambers and treacherous currents, where whispers of ancient magic and the Kraken's ominous influence linger. The city's submerged ruins serve as a stark reminder of nature's power and the corruption that can fester in its wake, promising perilous exploration for those who dare to delve into its depths.

The Rusting Chains of Tiamat's Forsaken Spawn

The Rusting Chains of Tiamat's Forsaken Spawn: A desolate expanse of corroded, colossal chains stretching into the crimson sky, each link a testament to Tiamat's discarded offspring. These deformed, failed draconic experiments are forever bound here, their agonized cries echoing through the plane. The chains, infused with the chaotic energies of Malbolge, constantly shift and tighten, inflicting unending pain. The ground is a mire of rust and blood, and the air crackles with the residual power of Tiamat's failed creations. The chains themselves pulse with a faint, malevolent red glow, and the sounds of scraping metal and pained draconic roars fill the air. The feeling of being watched by unseen, suffering eyes is constant. The chains are impossibly long, and the ends are lost in the red, swirling sky.

The Shadowfell

The Shadowfell, a bleak echo of the Prime Material Plane, is a realm of perpetual gloom and despair. This infinite plane, accessible through shadow crossings and magical means, mirrors the Material Plane's geography but twists it into a desolate landscape of black and white. Light sources are diminished, and magic related to light and fire is impeded, while shadow magic is enhanced. The terrain is magically morphic, constantly shifting and diverging from its Prime counterpart. Landmarks are recognizable but distorted, and frequent shadow quakes disrupt travel. Inhabitants include shades, shadar-kai, shadow creatures, and undead drawn to areas of negative energy. Mirages of familiar places and faces haunt travelers. Notable locations like Evernight and the Shadow Swamp offer both peril and dark opportunities. The Shadowfell is also home to the Domains of Dread, demiplanes imprisoning powerful evils. Notable deities like Shar and Mask maintain realms here.

The Shifting Sands of Zariel's Fallen Legions

An endless desert of crimson sand, where the remnants of Zariel's former legions are trapped in perpetual, chaotic warfare. Here, the fallen angels and devils fight an endless, meaningless battle, their forms constantly morphing and shifting due to Malbolge's chaotic energy. The sands themselves are alive, shifting and swirling, burying and unburying the combatants in an endless cycle of violence. The air is thick with the stench of brimstone and the sound of clashing weapons. The sands are hot to the touch, and the shifting landscape creates a sense of disorienting instability. The sounds of battle are a constant, maddening roar. The desert stretches to the infinite, and the sky is a swirling mass of red and black.

The Shining Plains

The Shining Plains, a sun-drenched expanse of dry grassland within the Vilhon Reach, presents a diverse and volatile landscape. Bordered by the monster-haunted Assam Lheshayl Ormath Deepwing Mountains to the north, and fringed by the druid-held Gulthmere Forest, the plains are a patchwork of independent city-states like Assam, Lheshayl, and Ormath, alongside nomadic wemic and centaur tribes. The influential Emerald Enclave holds sway here, while the insectoid thri-kreen of the Krakk't and the frog-like grippli also claim portions of the land. In 1355 DR, mysterious fires ravaged the plains, claimed by the destructive Church of Talos, who erected a shrine amidst the charred remnants. Post-Spellplague, the northwestern reaches transformed into the treacherous Xian badlands. Home to roughly 423,000 inhabitants, the Shining Plains are a realm of stark beauty and hidden dangers, where diverse cultures clash and nature's power reigns supreme.

The Silent Spire of Azmar

The Silent Spire of Azmar pierces the relentless sands of Anauroch like a petrified finger pointing towards a forgotten sky. Constructed from massive blocks of sun-bleached sandstone, the pyramid has weathered countless centuries of wind and magic, its once sharp edges now softened by erosion and the strange energies that permeate the Great Sand Sea. The entrance, a shadowed maw choked with drifting sand, hints at the oppressive darkness within. Strange, unsettlingly still hieroglyphs adorn the exterior, depicting beings with elongated limbs and unsettlingly large eyes, their meaning lost to time. The air around the spire hums with a faint, almost imperceptible magical resonance, a lingering echo of the phaerimm magic that shaped this land. Within, narrow, twisting corridors lead to larger chambers, many choked with sand or collapsed entirely. Traps, both mechanical and magical, remain active, guarding the secrets and the slumbering dead within.

The Small Teeth

The Small Teeth are a modest yet rugged mountain range marking the southern border of Amn and Muranndin, their peaks averaging around 8,000 feet and cloaked in sparse forests of hardy pines and firs. Twisting, narrow trails wind unpredictably through the rocky spines, often leading travelers astray and providing perfect ambush grounds for lurking humanoid predators and bandits. The sun-warmed southern foothills give way to fertile vineyards that thrive on rich soils, while melting snow from the peaks feeds the vital Imnestream and River Specie, sustaining the life of the surrounding lands. Though not the tallest mountains, the Small Teeth are fraught with confusion and hidden dangers, challenging the wary and unwary alike.

The Spine of the World

The Spine of the World is a towering, ice-clad mountain range that dominates northwest Faerûn, stretching from the frozen Cold Run southward to the jagged Ice Spires. Known locally as “the Wall,” it serves as a formidable barrier against the frigid wastes of the Uttermost North. Though mostly uninhabited, hardy settlements cling to the forested western foothills near the Sword Coast, where life struggles against biting cold and looming threats. The Spine’s perilous peaks and narrow, frozen passes are home to fierce barbarian tribes who migrate seasonally, adapting to the brutal climate. Dangerous beasts—rumored to include yeti, white dragons, and other terrors—prowling the heights make the mountains a perilous frontier. The range’s rugged wilderness, savage inhabitants, and chilling storms uphold its reputation as a wild and untamed stronghold against the North’s icy fury.

The Steeps

Clinging to the sloped rise between Gray Harbor and the Old Wall, the Steeps is the Lower City's bustling artery of trade and ambition. Its steep, cobbled streets climb directly toward the gates of the Upper City, funnelling gold, goods, and gossip between Baldur’s merchant elite and its working-class heart. Though technically part of the chaotic Lower City, the Steeps boasts an elevated status—both literally and figuratively—thanks to its wealth of shops, guild offices, and moneylenders. The renowned Counting House looms along the harborfront, a granite behemoth of coin and contract where fortunes are weighed and exchanged under the watchful eye of the Patriars and their proxies. Felogyr’s Fireworks brings sparkle and danger alike to the district, while a constant presence of Flaming Fist patrols ensures order—at least where coin flows. For merchants hoping to climb the city's rigid social tiers, success in the Steeps is often the first step.

The Ten Towns

Nestled within the frigid embrace of Icewind Dale, the Ten Towns cling to survival, a loose confederation of hardy settlements against the Spine of the World's southern reach and the Reghed Glacier's eastern expanse. Bryn Shander, the walled capital, stands as the largest, its speaker Cassius wielding considerable influence. Surrounding it are Bremen Targos, another walled town and vital fishing hub, and the isolated Lonelywood, among others, each a beacon of community diligence. These frontier villages, a haven for those seeking new beginnings, endure harsh winters and treacherous roads patrolled by highwaymen, orcs, snow yetis, and giants. A council of speakers from each town convenes in Bryn Shander, grappling with the region's perils and fostering a fragile, often competitive, unity. Though each town prides itself on self-reliance, the relentless threats of the North forge a tenuous, necessary alliance against the brutal landscape and its dangers.

The Tortured Land

The Tortured Land sprawls bleak and unyielding between the Moonsea and the Great Glacier, a desolate realm of barren wastes and relentless cold. Its uncharted expanses harbor ancient secrets and lurking dangers, drawing few but the desperate or foolhardy. In 1480 DR, elemental horrors erupted violently here, devastating settlements near Ilinvur and Barze and revealing the land’s volatile fury. Within its boundaries lie eerie landmarks such as the Oubliette of Madness and the Cenotaph of Lost Gods—haunted ruins steeped in forgotten magic. The ruined stone giant fortress of Moch-Fanan stands watch over the windswept canyons, silent testimony to a lost age. Tales persist of a shield dwarf clan exiled northward onto the glacier for defying a war party, their fate woven into the land’s harsh legend. The Tortured Land remains a forbidding frontier, where exile and elemental chaos reign supreme and survival is a grim challenge.

The Trackless Sea

The Trackless Sea, a frigid expanse west of Faerûn, stretches from the Sea of Swords to Maztica, bordered by the icy Sea of Moving Ice and Chult's peninsula. Its northern reaches are a tempestuous realm of gray skies, violent squalls, and drifting icebergs, though coastal currents near Waterdeep offer a slight respite. Scattered islands dot this harsh sea, each a kingdom unto itself. Gundarlun, ruled by King Olger Redaxe, boasts Gundbarg, a haven amidst the waves. Ruathym, Trisk (the Purple Rocks) under King Selger's iron fist, and the remote Tuern, home to Uttersea, form a chain of isolated settlements. Elven, dwarven, and Northman explorers have braved its depths, yet vast stretches remain uncharted, whispering tales of feathered warriors and phantom continents. The sea's unexplored heart conceals exotic locales and perilous mysteries, a realm ripe for adventure.

The Trackless Sea (North)

The Trackless Sea (South)

The Trade Way

The Trade Way is one of Faerûn’s most vital arteries of commerce and culture, stretching from the sun-drenched spires of Calimport in the south to the bustling gates of Waterdeep in the north. Running parallel to the Sword Coast, it threads through great cities such as Tethyr’s Zazesspur, the merchant stronghold of Baldur’s Gate, and the fortified trade hub of Daggerford. The road links kingdoms, carries the weight of caravans, and hums with the footsteps of adventurers, pilgrims, nobles, and smugglers alike. From its southern segment—often called the Coast Way—to its northern reaches near the High Moor, the Trade Way traverses diverse terrain: dry scrublands, temperate forests, rain-drenched hills, and fog-cloaked coastlines. Patrols from regional powers protect travelers near cities, but beyond those, dangers lurk—bandits, beasts, and worse. Ancient ruins, battlefield markers, and crumbling mileposts speak to the road’s age and storied past. It is a lifeline of Faerûn.

The Trollclaws

The Trollclaws, a treacherous expanse of misty, steep, grassy hills, borders the northern Fields of the Dead, a region notorious for its dense, overgrown foliage and pervasive dampness. This wild territory, a haven for countless trolls, renders it largely uninhabitable for larger creatures. The Winding Water snakes through the hills, its only safe wagon crossing, Trollclaw Ford, a ruined hamlet along the Coast Way, a vital trade route between Baldur's Gate and Waterdeep. The ford, repeatedly besieged by trolls, stands as a testament to the region's inherent danger. Travelers are strongly advised to circumvent the Trollclaws, as the relentless troll hordes, coupled with the rugged terrain, make passage exceptionally perilous. The area's constant mist conceals threats, while the river's unpredictable currents and the trolls' regenerative abilities make even simple crossings a deadly gamble.

The Underdark

The Underdark is an immense, shadowed labyrinth sprawling beneath the surface of Faerûn, a realm of endless darkness and peril. Its tiered depths—Upperdark, Darklands, and Lowerdark—each host unique ecosystems, from fungal forests and bioluminescent fungi to vast subterranean lakes. Malevolent civilizations such as the cunning drow, relentless duergar, and enigmatic mind flayers carve out brutal domains, while terrifying aberrations like aboleths lurk in hidden waters. Twisting tunnels and colossal caverns weave this treacherous world together, sustaining a brutal ecosystem of strange flora, fierce fauna, and constant territorial warfare. The Underdark teems with diverse races—beholders, cloakers, derro, kuo-toa, quaggoths, rock gnomes, svirfneblin, and more—each struggling for survival in this sunless, hostile abyss.

The Vast Swamp

The Vast Swamp is a sprawling, fetid wilderness lying between the kingdoms of Cormyr and Sembia—a region so inhospitable, it earned its name not from charted borders but whispered warnings. Once a natural marsh, the Vast Swamp was forever altered by a planar rupture to Minauros in −702 DR, infusing it with infernal ooze and arcane corruption. Since then, it has become a festering mire of black water, diseased beasts, and lingering magic. Surrounded by the Thunder Peaks, Eastern Cormyr, and the Way of the Manticore trade road, the swamp stretches ominously toward civilization year by year. Tribes of lizardfolk, hobgoblins, and aberrant horrors wage constant war within, while ruined fortresses and ancient elven cities rot in silence beneath moss and fog. Few have returned from its heart—those who do speak of sunken temples, Shadowscale raiders, mind flayers, and the dreams of something darker stirring in the dead magic beneath.

The Wailing Maw

The Wailing Maw is an expansive labyrinth of sea caves carved into the jagged cliffs of Alaron Island’s western coast. Named for a long-lost monstrous sea creature whose gaping jaws supposedly formed the original entrance, the caverns resonate with the ceaseless crash of waves, producing eerie, mournful echoes that can unsettle even the most seasoned explorers. The air is heavy with the briny scent of salt, damp stone, and decaying seaweed. Narrow, algae-slick ledges wind precariously along the cavern walls, often ending in sheer drops into dark, roiling pools below. Access to deeper passages is governed by tides, requiring daring navigation through submerged tunnels. Strange bioluminescent plants cling to the damp rock faces, casting a ghostly, pulsating light that reveals hidden dangers in the shadows.

The Whalebones

The Whalebones archipelago juts from the tempestuous Trackless Sea like serrated teeth—wind-swept mesas topped with hardy grasses and encircled by chalky cliffs and gravelly shores strewn with massive whale skeletons. Life here is harsh, sustained by small, resilient Northmen communities who eke out a living through whaling, fishing, sparse farming, and fierce raids. Rival petty kings wage brutal, fleeting wars over scant resources, their skirmishes marking the islands with blood and fire. Garrstead, the largest stronghold on Finback Island, stands as the fortified seat of Garr Ulfsson’s rule. Beyond human habitations, vast rocs nest on the larger islands, serving as formidable aerial mounts for the storm giants of Maelstrom, who occasionally descend from their thunderous skies to dominate the islands below. The Whalebones are a realm of stark survival, fierce pride, and elemental power.

The White Peaks

The White Peaks rise as a jagged, frost-clad spine cleaving through the Moonsea North, forming a stark and imposing barrier between the desolate Tortured Lands to the north and the sweeping Ride steppes to the south. Among these towering summits stands Whitehorn, a sentinel mountain, while the resilient town of Whitehom clings precariously to its southern slopes. These frozen heights are hunted by stone and frost giants, who prey upon hobgoblins, orcs, and the region’s hardy wildlife. Hidden deep within the northern crags lies Forharn, a secretive Forest Gnome city veiled by ancient magic. Forharn sits at a vital crossroads along the Trail of Mists—a labyrinthine network of arcane portals weaving through the peaks—making the White Peaks both a land of deadly danger and mystical passage.

The Wide

The Wide is the great open plaza of the Upper City, a sprawling, cobbled expanse renowned across Faerûn as one of the most prestigious open-air marketplaces in the western Realms. Nestled between noble estates and the High Hall, it serves as both a grand bazaar and a civic heart—where merchant stalls, exotic wares, and eloquent debates mingle beneath the open sky. Here, Baldurians and foreign traders from lands as far as Thay haggle over silks, spices, enchanted trinkets, and rare tomes. Politics spill freely from noble mouths as coin changes hands, watched closely by the Bailiff of the Wide, the appointed official who manages vendor permissions, records, and disputes. More than a market, it is a stage of influence and ambition, where rumors rise like incense and fortunes are made or broken in the space of a day. Beneath its stones lies rumor of an old passageway—sealed, secret, and the subject of many whispered tales.

The Wildspace Boundary

The Wildspace Boundary marks the treacherous intersection of the Astral Sea and wildspace—a vast, star-dusted gray void where familiar cosmic laws unravel. Here, spelljamming vessels navigate surreal currents governed by the fluid, ever-shifting nature of the Astral Plane, where gravity is absent and time distorts unpredictably. Scattered chunks of astral matter drift alongside the eerie remnants of dead gods, forming floating god-isles shimmering with arcane energy. Color pools—mysterious portals to other planes—dot the void, their flickering lights both beckoning and warning. This volatile nexus attracts astral dreadnoughts, githyanki warriors, and countless planar entities, creating a hazardous ecosystem fueled by potent psychic energy. Within this shifting, thought-responsive expanse, danger and wonder coexist in delicate, unpredictable balance.

Thornhold

Thornhold, a formidable grey stone fortress, juts from the southern edge of the Mere of Dead Men, its sheer cliff face overlooking the turbulent sea, rendering a seaward wall unnecessary. A thick, curved wall encircles the bailey, within which a two-towered keep stands sentinel. The interior hums with activity, housing a diverse array of workshops: humble wooden and plaster structures dedicated to animal husbandry, smithing, candlemaking, gem cutting, woodworking, and brewing. Once a possession of the Margaster family, then contested by the Knights of Samular and the Zhentarim, Thornhold is now the staunch domain of the Stoneshaft shield dwarves, their industrious hands shaping the fortress into a bastion of their mountain craft.

Thunder Peaks

The Thunder Peaks, a jagged spine marking Cormyr's eastern edge, rise in perpetual storm, their name a constant rumble of thunder and crackling lightning. Rugged peaks plunge into deep, shadowed valleys, concealing treacherous passes and hidden caves where orc and goblin tribes plot raids against Cormyr, Sembia, and the Dalelands. The lost dwarven halls of Thunderholme lie somewhere within, now a domain of the dracolich Aurgloroasa, the Sibilant Shade. The Thunder River carves a westward path, while the Thunder Gap, a vital east-west passage, offers perilous transit. Diverse wildlife, both mundane and magical, prowls the slopes, amongst rare and hardy flora. The volatile weather and harsh terrain make this range a dangerous, yet compelling, frontier.

Thunderholme

Thunderholme, a skeletal echo of dwarven grandeur, lies nestled beneath the jagged Thunder Peaks. Once a bastion blessed by Dumathoin, its halls now echo with the chill whispers of undeath. Crumbling stone structures, etched with faded dwarven runes, stand as silent sentinels to a lost age. The once-bustling forges are cold, their anvils rusted, and the mines, once rich with ore, are now choked with shadow. Aurgloroasa, the Sibilant Shade, a formidable shadow dragon, claims this ruin as her lair, commanding a Cult of the Dragon and legions of animated bones, the remnants of the city's noble inhabitants. The air is thick with the stench of decay and the chilling presence of dark magic, a stark contrast to the city's former glory. The city's emptied vaults, a lingering mystery, fuel tales of Dumathoin's wrath or a grand, unseen theft.

Tiamat's Temple

Tiamat’s Temple, a fearsome fortress in Avernus, stands as a dark testament to the Dragon Queen’s infernal might. Constructed in a star-shaped layout, the temple features five sprawling chapels, each dedicated to one of her chromatic dragon heads—red, blue, green, black, and white—encircling a central, ominous apse. This design mirrors Tiamat’s five-headed form, symbolizing the full breadth of her draconic power and dominion. Though normally anchored in the first layer of the Nine Hells, the temple briefly materialized atop Toril’s Well of Dragons in the late 15th century DR, an apocalyptic demonstration of her reach. The fortress is steeped in dark magic and unholy reverence, serving as both a sacred shrine and a grim stronghold of her fiendish influence.

Toralth

Toralth is a tranquil village tucked along the River Lis in northeastern Tethyr, nestled between the kingdom’s bustling capital, Darromar, and the rebellious Amnian stronghold of Riatavin. Its modest size belies a warm, tightly knit community where everyday life revolves around simple toil and quiet camaraderie. The village’s heart is the Blue Badger Inn, a cozy tavern run by Jorid, a grizzled former Tethyrian soldier who welcomes travelers and locals alike with hearty meals and tales of distant campaigns. Among Toralth’s residents are Vosh the White, a burly half-orc miller who hides his heritage beneath a thick beard, and Tural, a spirited youth destined to join the Tethyrian military. Though modest and peaceful, Toralth sits at a crossroads of conflict and culture, where whispers of rebellion and loyalty mingle with the river’s gentle flow.

Trademeet

Trademeet, also called the City of Merchant's Peace, is the smallest of Amn's established caravan stops, situated in the Small Teeth region between the Forest of Tethir/Wealdath and the Small Teeth mountains. This settlement operates under a unique legal code that mandates honest and fair commerce, a principle fiercely upheld amidst the constant threat of monstrous incursions from goblins, bugbears, orcs, and even giants, compelling merchants to seek armed escorts. The city's governance is primarily influenced by powerful, often feuding, merchant families like the Alibakkars and Lurraxols, with the Alibakkar family historically holding significant land along the trade route south towards Murann. Despite a past destruction, Trademeet has been rebuilt and continues to serve as a noteworthy, albeit precarious, trading post in the region.

Trades Ward

The Trades Ward, sprawling across Waterdeep’s eastern expanse, thrums with ceaseless commercial vigor, hugging the western and southern walls of the City of the Dead. Its stone-paved streets teem with merchants plying exotic wares, while imposing guildhalls echo with bustling activity. Inns and taverns, ranging from modest rooms priced at 5 silver pieces per day to comfortable lodgings at 20 silver pieces per tenday, offer rest and nourishment to the ever-flowing stream of travelers and traders. Landmarks such as the Court of the White Bull, the Plinth, and Virgin’s Square serve as vibrant anchors in this vast marketplace. Though devoid of residential warmth, the Trades Ward stands as Waterdeep’s vital artery of commerce—a relentless, noisy hub that caters to every conceivable need, seldom resting beneath the city’s ever-watchful gaze.

Trailstone

Trailstone is a modest, unassuming village perched on the contested border between Amn and Tethyr. Historically part of Amn, the settlement shifted allegiance to Tethyr during late 14th-century territorial realignments, leaving it a quiet but significant marker of shifting political boundaries. While lacking grand monuments or famed events, Trailstone sustains a small, resilient community that thrives on local trade and agriculture. Its position along the border imbues it with a subtle tension, as inhabitants navigate the delicate balance between two kingdoms. The village’s simple life and steadfast people form a quiet but vital thread in the tapestry of this frontier region.

Triboar

Triboar, the "Gateway to the North," is a vibrant frontier town where the Long Road and Evermoor Way intersect, a hub for merchants and travelers. Built upon fertile plains, it sprawls outwards with numerous ranches and farmsteads, particularly to the north and east. The town thrives on the horse trade, supported by skilled blacksmiths and wagonwrights. Governed by the democratically elected Lord Protector, currently the ex-adventurer Darathra Shendrel, Triboar operates under the "Lord's Decree." The Triboar Trail, a stretch of rolling plains between the Sword Mountains and Neverwinter Woods, begins here, attracting rangers and scouts who often gather at the Triboar Arms tavern. The Triboar Travelers caravaneer company also operates from the town, providing wagons and guards for merchants. The town's name echoes a tale of three boars slain centuries past, a testament to its rugged origins.

Triel

Triel, a meager village nestled within the desolate Fields of the Dead, marks a crucial crossroads of the Trade Way and Dusk Road, south of the ominous Boareskyr Bridge. Its defining feature is a rough, log-and-boulder stockade, a grim reminder of the harsh winters and the ever-present threat of the wilds, its gates firmly locked each night. Elvar the Grainlord, a figure consumed by the need for survival, governs this austere settlement, his focus solely on stockpiling food. Absent are the comforts of an inn or tavern; travelers are relegated to camping outside the walls, their presence a form of perimeter defense for the precious grain reserves. Situated within the borders of Elturgard, Triel is overshadowed by the looming Trielta Hills to the northeast, its existence a testament to resilience in a land of scarcity and danger.

Trielta Hills

Nestled within the Western Heartlands, the Trielta Hills offer a serene expanse of rolling, pastoral terrain, punctuated by rocky outcrops and scattered farming hamlets. A lesser branch of the Dusk Road meanders through the hills, connecting these isolated communities. While primarily inhabited by rock gnomes and halflings, with a few orcish enclaves, the region maintains a peaceful, idyllic nature, largely untouched by major threats. However, small-time criminals and hungry beasts pose minor dangers. The hills also intersect with the mystical Trail of Mists, adding an element of arcane travel. Renkilk’s Cranny, a cavern near the southern edge, once held ogres but is now claimed by the Church of Shar, casting a shadow of dark influence upon the otherwise tranquil landscape.

Troll Mountains

The Troll Mountains form a rugged, low-lying range marking Amn’s northern border, a perilous wilderness ruled by cunning mountain trolls known for their brutal strength and near-perfect camouflage within the rocky terrain. Rich veins of gems, nickel, and iron thread through the peaks, enticing miners and adventurers despite the ever-present dangers. Unlike the humid Cloud Peaks to the west, the Troll Mountains endure only winter snows, their stark landscape dotted with hostile goblin and orc warbands. Dominating the range is Mount Thalangar, a storm-wracked peak sacred to followers of Talos, while the massive Wailing Dwarf—a 4,000-foot dwarven rock monolith—stands sentinel over the ruined dwarven city now twisted into a troll-infested labyrinth. Adding to the peril, the infamous red dragon Balagos claims these mountains as his lair, making passage a deadly gamble against monstrous foes and fiery wrath.

Trollbark Forest

Trollbark Forest stretches as a perilous wilderness north of Baldur’s Gate along the Sword Coast, an impenetrable tangle of thorny, toxic vegetation. Twisted oaks, scorched black ashes, and carnivorous scrub pines dominate the dense canopy, while fetid bogs and stagnant swamps fill the shadowed lowlands, turning travel into a treacherous endeavor. The forest is ruled by brutal trolls, often commanded by massive two-headed giants, who launch ruthless raids across the nearby Lizard Marsh and High Moor. Below the surface, deepspawn lurk in winding caverns, their vulnerable young sometimes falling prey to desperate troll packs. Resistant to the forest’s poisonous flora, these monsters make Trollbark a deadly natural fortress and a constant menace to surrounding communities.

Trollclaw Ford

Trollclaw Ford, a ruined hamlet perched on the banks of the Winding Water, stands as the only safe wagon crossing for miles along the treacherous Coast Way. Nestled beneath the mist-shrouded, steep, grassy slopes of the Trollclaws, this site marks a critical juncture between Baldur’s Gate and Waterdeep. The surrounding hills are infamous as a fierce troll stronghold, making the area a constant threat to travelers and traders. Evidence of its strategic importance endures in the crumbling remains of several forts, scarred by countless battles and occupations. Though now desolate and overgrown, Trollclaw Ford’s ruins whisper tales of a once-vital waypoint—a rugged bastion against the wild, untamed dangers of the Sword Coast.

Tuern

Tuern is a volcanic island adrift in the frigid expanse of the Trackless Sea, its stark landscape defined by black obsidian beaches and perpetually smoking volcanic peaks. Despite its harsh subarctic winds, the island boasts surprising fertility, with hardy settlements clinging to the rich volcanic slopes. Dominated by a fierce triumvirate of tyrannical red dragons, Tuern is further shaped by fire giants whose uneasy alliance with the island’s human inhabitants defies natural enmities. The dragons’ lairs scar the jagged peaks, casting long, ominous shadows over this fragile harmony. The air hangs heavy with sulfur and salt spray, a constant reminder of the volatile forces—both natural and draconic—that govern this isolated domain.

Tumbledown

Tumbledown is a somber and oft-overlooked subdistrict nestled in the Outer City of Baldur’s Gate, lying just beyond the Cliffgate and the southeastern slope of the Lower City. Enshrouded by persistent fogs that creep up from the River Chionthar, it earns its name from the uneven, sagging shanties that dot its gently rolling hills. Tumbledown is best known for its graveyards and mausoleums, housing the remains of those too poor or too profane to rest within the city walls. The district is whispered to be haunted, and indeed, the chill air carries more than just river mist—folk speak of pale lights drifting among the tombs and muffled voices on windless nights. Despite its eerie air, the district sees a steady trickle of mourners, grave-diggers, and the odd necromancer drawn to its shadowed recesses. Protected from the harsher winds by the hills to the east, Tumbledown feels forgotten, its silence broken only by bells tolling in fog.

Tun River

The Tun River is a broad, temperamental waterway coursing through the western reaches of Cormyr and the Dragon Coast, originating in the shadowed Farsea Marshes and winding south through the wild Tunlands before spilling into the Dragonmere amid the windswept Gritstone Moorlands. Fueled by stormwaters cascading from the Storm Horns, the Tun is infamous for its unpredictable surges and seasonal floods that render surrounding lands inhospitable to settlement or agriculture. Over centuries, these deluges have helped birth the Farsea Swamp—a vast, fetid expanse that absorbed both the original Farsea and Tun Marshes following the Spellplague’s upheavals. Though treacherous, the Tun remains vital to regional ecosystems and a source of rare reagents, particularly the prized maxor plant whose essence, maxoris, is sought by alchemists and poisoners alike. Dangerous creatures prowl its dark waters, and legends claim ancient powers slumber in its silt-choked depths.

Turmish

Turmish is a thriving democratic republic celebrated for its lush, fertile countryside and meticulously maintained farmland. Home to roughly 1.7 million people, its capital, Alaghôn, serves as the seat of the Assembly of Stars, a meritocratic government valuing skill and achievement over birthright. The landscape is a varied tapestry of rugged mountains, volcanic peaks, and winding country lanes that can easily confound travelers. Turmish’s subtropical climate nurtures abundant wildlife and distinctive flora, including the rare blueleaf trees. Its robust economy centers on exports like glass, grain, lumber, mercenaries, and salt, balanced by imports of luxury goods and metals. The nation’s defenses rest on well-organized mercenary companies and a vigilant naval militia, preserving peace amid external threats. Turmishan culture prizes practicality, fairness, and harmony with nature, exemplified by fair merchants, ornately armored warriors, and wise wizards adorned with animal tattoos.

Turnback Mountains

The Turnback Mountains, a jagged, inhospitable range within the Moonsea North, rise like a petrified spine, their peaks eternally shrouded in mist and shadow. Known also as the Abbey Mountains, they are a realm of rugged cliffs and treacherous ravines, where only the hardiest creatures dare to tread. Turnback Mountain, a prominent southern peak, looms over the landscape, a stark reminder of the range's perilous nature. Here, amongst the wind-scoured rocks and hidden caves, dwell a multitude of monstrous denizens, from ravenous beasts to cunning fiends, making any journey through these peaks a perilous undertaking for even the most seasoned adventurer. The air crackles with an untamed energy, a testament to the wild, untamed essence of this forbidding terrain.

Twin Songs

Twin Songs is a northern district of Baldur’s Gate’s Outer City, situated near the approach to Wyrm’s Crossing. Known primarily as a dense nexus of minor and often obscure religious sites, the district hosts an array of shrines, altars, and monuments dedicated to a diverse pantheon—many devoted to lesser-known or even malevolent deities. This makes Twin Songs a sanctuary for displaced and marginalized worshippers who find refuge within its shadowed streets. The district’s theological richness far exceeds the average Baldurian’s knowledge, revealing a tapestry of faiths and superstitions woven into its very fabric. As a unique religious haven marked by a somber, sometimes unsettling atmosphere, Twin Songs stands apart as a vital, if eerie, spiritual crossroads in the city’s Outer wards.

Tymphalos, Mouth of Iron

Tymphalos, "Mouth of Iron," is a colossal, volcanic foundry. Within its fiery depths, lesser devils and duergar toil endlessly, crafting weapons and infernal constructs for the armies of Hell. Supervised by the archdevil Tymphal, the foundry's bellows roar, and molten metal flows, shaping diabolical armaments. The air crackles with heat and the clang of hammers, a symphony of infernal industry. Here, amidst the lava and smoke, the tools of destruction are forged, fueling the endless war. The volcano's maw belches forth smoke and sparks, a testament to the relentless labor within. The very rock trembles with the power of the forges, and the shadows dance with the shapes of hellish creations. The scent of sulfur and burning metal permeates the air, a constant reminder of the infernal work being done. Tymphalos stands as a testament to Hell's might, a source of endless armaments for the legions of the damned.

Ulf of Thuger

Ulf of Thuger, perched precariously on the windswept Purple Rocks within the Northern Trackless Sea, is the rough-hewn capital of Trisk. Its meager dwellings, constructed of driftwood and weathered stone, cluster around a rickety harbor, testament to the islanders' harsh existence. The air hangs thick with the brine of the sea and the smoke of fish-drying fires. Fishing vessels and the more ominous, black-sailed pirate ships crowd the docks, reflecting the dual nature of Trisk's inhabitants, who eke out a living through sparse farming and daring raids. A crude, long-hall stands as the seat of King Selger, a nominal ruler over a people as wild as the sea they navigate. The town, a hub of both desperate survival and predatory ambition, is a dangerous port of call for any venturing into the northern reaches.

Upper City

The Upper City of Baldur’s Gate, also called the Old Town, rests serenely atop the bluffs north of Balduran’s Wall—a deliberate divide that separates privilege from the bustle below. Once the site of Gray Harbor, older than even Heapside, this district has long been the preserve of the city's elite: the patriarch families whose wealth, land, and lineage have shaped Baldur’s Gate for generations. Cobblestone lanes wind between immaculate mansions and manicured courtyards, patrolled not by the Flaming Fist but by private guards in livery, silent and watchful. Here, influence moves behind curtained windows and at gilded dinner tables, where power is inherited more than earned. Artisans of unmatched skill maintain the noble houses, while footmen, governesses, and stewards go about their roles with quiet precision. Though outwardly tranquil, the Upper City simmers with polite rivalries and veiled schemes—a cloistered world built on the illusion of order and the weight of gold.

Uttersea

Uttersea, the volcanic capital of Tuern, nestles within the bowl of a titanic, sunken caldera—a natural fortress of blackened basalt and warm rock that shelters it from the worst fury of the Trackless Sea. Beneath the command of High King Threlked Ironfist, this dwarven stronghold thrives on the bounties of the deep and the treasures of the stone. Massive whaling vessels dock beside fishing boats in the broad harbor, while smoke-belching forges and gem-processing workshops ring with constant labor. The mines yield diamonds and adamantite, enriching the city and drawing ambitious traders to its guarded gates. Yet this prosperity comes at a price. To the southeast lies the Flame Fault, a scorched expanse of volcanic fissures and molten chasms where fire giants march and red dragons soar—an ever-present threat looming over daily life. Uttersea stands defiant, its people hardened by heat, toil, and the knowledge that ruin lies just beyond the ridge.

Velen

Velen, perched on the southern edge of the Tethyrian peninsula, embodies two faces—one etched with ghosts, the other masked in revelry. Once the duchal seat of Cape Velen, its sea-blasted streets and moss-choked buildings echo with the weight of its haunted past. Whispers of ancient betrayal, coastal battles, and lingering dead cling to the city like sea fog. Yet under Raja Nilus Oleander's flamboyant rule, Velen has transformed into a capital of indulgence within the newly independent Kingdom of Velen. Its taverns overflow with song, its alleys pulse with color, and intoxicants of all kinds flow freely, their use not only tolerated but celebrated. The surrounding Velen Peninsula remains wild and thinly settled, with dense forests hiding ogre tribes and pirate enclaves haunting its rugged coastlines. Caught between past and present, Velen remains both a haunted threshold and a beacon of brazen survival, dancing on the edge of danger and decadence alike.

Venya, the Pearly Heaven

Venya, the Pearly Heaven, the third layer of Mount Celestia, is a realm of pastoral tranquility and bountiful harvests. A soft, pearlescent glow emanates from the sky, bathing the landscape in a gentle, ethereal light. Lush meadows, rolling hills, and carefully terraced fields stretch across the layer, punctuated by peaceful brooks and quaint villages. This layer is the home of the halfling pantheon, particularly their realm, the Green Fields, a place of safety and abundance. The air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the gentle rustling of crops, creating an atmosphere of serene contentment. The halflings thrive here, their lives untouched by the harshness of other planes, their crops always plentiful, and their homes safe from harm. Venya is a testament to the peaceful and harmonious aspects of lawful good, a place of simple joys and quiet contentment.

Vercy Wood

Vercy Wood, a dense thicket nestled in the Northeast, sprawls northwest of the rugged West Galena Mountains, a verdant barrier against the wild lands of Thar. The ancient Ilinver Trail, a vital artery connecting Ilinver to the eastern settlement of Avang, weaves through its shadowed depths, its worn path a testament to countless journeys. The crystalline Telstang Brook, born from the Galenas’ high peaks, carves a winding course westward, its gentle murmur a constant presence amidst the towering trees, before finally merging with the expansive waters of Lake Longreach. Patches of sunlight filter through the dense canopy, dappling the forest floor in shifting patterns, revealing moss-covered stones and the occasional glimpse of elusive woodland creatures. The air hangs heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine, a place of both tranquil beauty and hidden dangers, where ancient secrets whisper among the rustling leaves.

Vilhon Reach

The Vilhon Reach sprawls southward from the Sea of Fallen Stars, a lush, humid corridor pulsing with commerce, conflict, and the ghosts of empires long drowned. Its fertile valleys and tangled coastlines teem with independent city-states—descendants of Chondath’s fractured legacy—each vying for dominance over the rivers and trade routes that link the Lake of Steam to the Eastern Shaar. This once-unified region bears deep scars: millennia ago, Elven High Magic shattered the empire of Jhaamdath beneath a colossal tsunami, reshaping the land and burying civilizations beneath brackish soil and silt. In more recent history, the Spellplague and the Rotting War extinguished Chondath’s final ambitions, leaving behind the Free Cities, unstable alliances, and smoldering rivalries. The climate swings between early spring blossoms, searing summer droughts, and torrential winter storms. Amid the ruins of aqueducts and sunken temples, life persists—vivid, defiant, and never far from war.

Vilkstead

Vilkstead, a quaint village nestled amidst rolling hills, is renowned throughout the Sword Coast for its pungent and salty delicacy, Vilksmaarg, a unique herbed goat cheese. The village itself is a cluster of modest stone cottages, their thatched roofs weathered by coastal winds, surrounding a central square where the pungent aroma of aging cheese permeates the air. Goats graze on the surrounding pastures, their bells tinkling, a constant soundtrack to village life. Villkstead's single tavern, the "Goat's Rest," is a popular stop for weary travelers, offering not only the famed cheese but also hearty stews and local ales. The village's main trade is the production of Vilksmaarg, with villagers diligently tending to their goats and aging the cheese in cool, stone cellars. The surrounding landscape, a mix of grassy knolls and sparse woodlands, offers little in the way of other resources, making the cheese the lifeblood of this humble community.

Warslaw

Warslaw is a blighted tract of land within the infernal wastes of Avernus, the first layer of the Nine Hells. Once a battlefield for forgotten infernal skirmishes, it now festers with demonic corruption, a scar carved into the plane by the chaotic intrusion of the Abyss. The ground is soft with congealed ichor and burned bone, pulsing faintly beneath the feet like diseased flesh. Twisted growths sprout from the rot—towering fungi with fanged maws, spined brambles that exude hallucinogenic spores, and trees whose bark weeps blood. Malevolent creatures—chaos-birthed hybrids of demon and devil—skulk through the sludge, drawn to sound, heat, and fear. The sky overhead crackles with green lightning and oily smoke, never still, always churning. No road crosses Warslaw, no fortress stands guard. Even the infernal legions skirt its periphery, wary of its unpredictable horrors. It is a place of silent screams and shifting ground, where even the damned fear to linger.

Waterdeep

Waterdeep, the City of Splendors, is a sprawling metropolis on the Sword Coast, built upon the ancient elven settlement of Aelinthaldaar. It extends from the sea, across Mount Waterdeep's flanks, and into the depths of Undermountain. The city is a hub of trade and culture, boasting a population nearing two million, comprising mostly humans, with sizable dwarven and elven populations. Ruled by the secretive Lords of Waterdeep, it's a place of diverse faiths, from temples dedicated to Mystra and Tempus to hidden shrines of dark deities. The city's wards, like the Castle Ward and Dock Ward, each hold unique districts and landmarks, from the towering Blackstaff Tower to the bustling Great Harbor. Guarded by the City Watch and the elite Griffon Cavalry, Waterdeep thrives with broad, busy streets and a mix of public and private transport. Festivals add to its vibrant life, yet beneath its grandeur lies a complex web of guilds, nobles, and hidden criminal elements like the Xanathar Guild.

Waymoot

Waymoot, in Cormyr, lies nestled within the verdant expanse of the King’s Forest, its timbered buildings and bustling market square testament to both Cormyte industry and royal oversight. As a key waypoint between Suzail and the western reaches, the town thrives on forestry, trade, and agriculture, all under the watchful eye of Purple Dragon soldiers. Once famed across the Realms, The Moon and Stars tavern drew nobles and adventurers alike for its fine food, music, and glittering clientele, though its luster has faded somewhat with time. Beyond Cormyr’s borders lies another Waymoot: the waymoot of Assamboryl, a sacred site hidden deep within Cormanthor. Surrounded by towering trees and ancient ruins, this elven landmark once served as a gathering place for the People during the height of Cormanthyr, sitting north of Druindar’s Rock and just south of Six Thorns. Though silent now, its stones still hum with ancient magic and the memory of elven unity.

Welcome to Adventure!

Welcome to Adventure, a fan version of the Forgotten Realms! Dungeons and Dragons is a huge part of my life. I really enjoy it, and I run games all the time for my friends. Remember that nothing can beat an actual game master who sits down and runs a game for you. The purpose of this fan version of the Forgotten Realms is to create a game that can help others learn how to play D&D 5e in a lot commitment way. My goal is for others to enjoy the same worlds that I enjoy. That being said, this is a passion project that I will always be updating and improving. This is a Fan Version and it's not intended to be an exact copy of the Forgotten Realms, so expect there to be some missing content and a lot of my own custom work added to the game that doesn't exist in official lore. Once it is possible to add quests to games, expect a lot of my own custom module work added to this game. - Big love, Pollution.

Westgate

Westgate, sprawled along the Dragon Coast where the River Vesper meets the Inner Sea, is a city of masked intentions and veiled knives. Though outwardly ruled by a council of merchant lords and the elected Croamarkh, true dominion belongs to shadowy oligarchs and the infamous Night Masks, a criminal syndicate that permeates every level of city life. Gold changes hands swiftly here—in open markets, smoky backrooms, and blood-slick alleyways. Known as the “Gateway to the West,” Westgate welcomes all with open gates and smiling lies. Its diverse population—humans, elves, tieflings, dragonborn—walk side by side, unaware or uncaring of the webs tightening around them. Beneath the surface, the city harbors danger: sprawling sewer tunnels hunted by the massive quelzarn, undead-haunted catacombs from ancient empires, and long-sealed temples pulsing with forbidden magic. In Westgate, every opportunity is double-edged, and every secret costs dearly.

Wheelon

Wheloon, once a modest riverside town known for its painted wagons and vibrant trade along the Wyvernflow, now festers behind high stone walls as one of Cormyr’s darkest legacies. After the chaos of Mystra’s death and the eruption of the Spellplague, the Crown seized upon the town’s location—isolated yet accessible—and transformed it into a prison city. Suspected devotees of Shar, Netherese spies, rogue mages, and seditious voices were herded into Wheloon, including its own innocent citizens, many of whom had no chance to flee. Now, a grim experiment in containment, the city is patrolled by Purple Dragons and War Wizards who rarely venture beyond the outer checkpoints. Inside, makeshift factions have formed among the trapped—some seeking survival, others revenge. Rumors speak of secret rituals, shadowy powers, and an underground resistance pushing back against both their captors and fellow inmates.

Whispering Ash Fields

The Whispering Ash Fields: A seemingly endless expanse of fine, grey ash, perpetually stirred by hot, invisible winds. Beneath the surface, the ash conceals the petrified remains of those who dared to challenge Bel. The whispers are the tormented souls of these challengers, their voices forever trapped in the ash, endlessly replaying their final moments of defiance and despair. The ash itself is surprisingly light, allowing for surprisingly fast movement, but also making it easy to sink into the hidden petrified corpses. The ash is also known to be a potent component in infernal rituals, the whispers themselves said to grant a small amount of precognition to the user, though the price is a constant, maddening babble in their mind. The area is constantly patrolled by Erinyes, who are tasked with retrieving the petrified remains of powerful souls for Bel's personal collection.

Whispering Glaciers of Lost Souls

The Whispering Glaciers of Lost Souls lie deep within Cania, the eighth layer of the Nine Hells, where unimaginable cold scours both flesh and spirit. These vast, ever-shifting ice fields stretch for miles, their creaking masses concealing labyrinthine tunnels and sudden crevasses that can swallow even the most careful traveler. Trapped within the glacier walls are the frozen remnants of souls who perished in Cania’s blizzards—each one a mournful echo preserved in ice, their last screams and regrets carried on the howling winds. These whispers torment the minds of intruders, planting visions of despair and futility. At times, the souls coalesce into ghostly apparitions: pale, wailing forms clawing at unseen barriers, never escaping, never at rest. Even the Gelugons, masters of this icy realm, shun the place, calling it cursed and unclean. Here, the landscape itself conspires to confound and consume, a bleak monument to the pitiless cruelty of Mephistopheles's domain.

Whitkeep

Tucked against the crumbling edges of the Outer City and nestled near the Basilisk Gate, Whitkeep is a haven for the inventive, the eccentric, and the fiercely idealistic. Once a modest neighborhood of gnome-run tinsmith workshops and narrow alleys, Whitkeep evolved over time into a hotbed of creative dissent. Its heart is the Whitkeep Hostel, a rambling old manor turned communal living space and salon for radical thinkers, artists, and tinkerers. Here, amid tin cuttings and revolutionary slogans, the ideas of social reform, art-for-the-people, and communal craftsmanship flourish. The neighborhood retains strong gnomish roots—many still ply their trade as smiths and artisans, crafting clever devices and protest broadsheets in equal measure. Figures like the firebrand Pernilla “Prole” Cabrenock and experimental bard Ardryn Deagle gave Whitkeep its voice and its bite, fostering an environment where invention and insurrection walk hand in hand.

Wood of Sharp Teeth

The Wood of Sharp Teeth, a labyrinthine expanse of ancient trees south of the River Chionthar, presents a perilous wilderness, teeming with dire beasts, dragons, hydras, satyrs, and werewolves. This foreboding wood, southeast of Baldur's Gate and southwest of Scornubel, conceals the ruins of Vehlarr, a testament to its long-forgotten past, and the remnants of the elven realm, Askavar. Durlag's Tower looms on its southern edge, a solitary sentinel amidst the untamed wilds, while Hornhollow, a small logging settlement, clings to its periphery, bearing scars from a dragon's fiery wrath. Uldoon Trail skirts the wood's eastern flank, offering a treacherous path through its shadowed depths. Hidden within, a Twisted Rune teleportation gate allows for swift, yet perilous, transit to distant locales, making this forest a nexus of both natural and arcane dangers.

Wyrm's Crossing

Wyrm’s Crossing, Baldur’s Gate’s infamous double-span bridge over the River Chionthar, forms a chaotic lifeline between the districts of Twin Songs and Rivington. Anchored at its center by Wyrm’s Rock—an island fortress garrisoned by the Flaming Fist—the bridge functions as more than a crossing: it is a crammed, multi-level thoroughfare teeming with commerce, crime, and clamor. Buildings cling precariously to its sides, ranging from fine boutiques to sagging stalls and illegal overhangs that threaten to topple into the river below. Dive bars, gambling dens, and smoky kitchens form a mosaic of noise and vice. A tight-knit halfling enclave resides in squat tenements, fiercely proud and deeply embedded in the area’s unwritten codes. Though city law struggles to pierce this thicket of humanity, the "Crossers"—a local gang-cum-faction—impose their own order, preying on outsiders while defending their own. Wyrm’s Crossing is wild, alive, and vital—a bridge in every sense.

Wyvernwater

Wyvernwater is a sprawling, star-shaped freshwater lake nestled in the heart of Cormyr, surrounded by gently rolling hills, fertile farmland, and dense groves of elm and duskwood. Fed by the Sword River from the northwest, the Immerflow from the northeast, and the Thunder River from the east, the lake forms the lifeblood of the region’s fishing and trade routes. Its waters eventually drain south into the Dragonmere by way of the Wyvernflow, making it a strategic point for both inland commerce and naval activity. Abundant in fish, crab, and eel, Wyvernwater sustains numerous lakeside villages and supplies the royal tables in Suzail. It also serves as a buffer and lookout post for Cormyr’s interior, with Purple Dragon patrols frequently monitoring its shores. However, the lake holds more than just bounty—it is steeped in ancient legends, eerie morning mists, and sightings of strange, scaled creatures said to rise from the depths beneath the fog.

Yartar

Yartar stands as a bustling nexus in the Dessarin Valley, fortified and industrious, with five well-defended gates and high stone walls that embrace a thriving trade city. Perched along the banks of the Dessarin River, Yartar is famed for its expert barge construction—its vessels ferrying goods as far as Silverymoon and Waterdeep. But behind its industrious façade lies a web of intrigue and shadows. The Hand of Yartar, a skilled thieves’ guild with political ambitions, operates in secrecy from the Wink and Kiss tavern, quietly manipulating the city’s currents. A fortified bridge spans the river, linking the city proper to a stout citadel on the western shore, while the Shield Tower near the center hosts the disciplined city guard. Adventurers find luck and healing at the Happy Hall of Fortuitous Happenings, a temple devoted to Tymora. Meanwhile, nobility and outlanders alike flock to the Grand Dame, a luxurious gambling barge owned by Lord Drylund.

Yhaunn

Yhaunn clings to the southern Sembian coast, rising in crowded tiers from the bones of an ancient quarry, its streets and homes carved and stacked upon weathered stone. Once a major city of nearly 100,000 souls, wars and turmoil have hollowed its population, though its spirit remains unbowed. The city’s architecture thrusts upward in tightly packed rows of timber-framed structures, many five stories high, leaning over narrow alleys and stair-stepped paths that echo with footfall and merchant cries. Moonshadow Hall, the grand temple of Selûne, rises like a pale gem in the city’s dense core—its silver domes and glowing moonstone inlays a shining testament to enduring devotion amid adversity. Yhaunn’s confined space and vertical sprawl create both opportunity and tension, with rooftops serving as thoroughfares and entire families living above bustling trades. Though trade has slowed, and shadows gather in forgotten alleys, the city's stone heart beats still—scarred, sacred, and vigilant.

Zhentil Keep Ruins

Zhentil Keep stands as a haunted monument to ambition, ruin, and ruthless resurgence. Perched on the western shore of the Moonsea, it was once the unyielding heart of the Zhentarim’s military and mercantile empire, its influence reaching across Faerûn. But the Shadowbane War shattered that dominance—walls were torn asunder, towers collapsed, and much of the city was left in ruin. Today, amid charred rubble and broken battlements, new structures rise in jagged defiance. The Zhentarim, fractured but unbroken, have returned, rebuilding their stronghold with brutal efficiency. Streets once echoing with the march of armies now host whispered dealings, hidden vaults, and secret musters. The scent of scorched stone lingers, mingling with the sweat of mercenaries and the smoke of forge-fires. Zhentil Keep is no longer the fortress it was—but in its bones, dark power stirs again. What is reborn here will not be gentle, nor just.